Nine-Tenths of the Law
by Diablolita
Summary: Wars leave scars. Harry and Hermione continue their torrid affair in secret, as broken people do. While Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny struggle to adapt to post-war life, they soon realize that the end of Voldemort doesn't mean the end of darkness, and that right and wrong isn't so simple anymore. Sequel to 'Coping Mechanisms,' but can be read as a stand alone story.
1. Love, Bloody Love

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would be so rich right now I'd be on a yacht somewhere having threesomes with Rihanna and Kit Harington. But alas.

* * *

><p><em>You're made of my rib, oh baby<br>You're made of my sin  
>And I can't tell where<br>Your lust ends  
>And where your love begins.<em>

_I didn't want to fuck you baby  
>I didn't want to fuck you<br>I didn't want to fuck you  
>But you're pretty when you're mine.<em>

"Pretty When You Cry" - VAST

* * *

><p>They hadn't spoken in weeks.<p>

Well, they had _spoken_, if you wanted to be horribly technical about it. It was impossible not to, with lives as endlessly entangled as theirs were. But their conversations had roughly the emotional depth and intimacy of strangers waiting awkwardly in line for the toilet.

_Oh, hello, Harry. How have you been? _

_Just fine, thanks. Keeping busy. _

He tries not to think of the way her hair falls over her face when she comes, sweat glistening on her body. She would gleam with all the allure and immorality of blood diamonds.

_Same here. It seems like there's always something that needs doing. _

_Yeah. _

She nods and shifts her weight from her right foot to her left. He tries not to think about how she tastes when his tongue is buried inside of her.

* * *

><p>Seeing as exchanges like this had become normal, Harry was rightfully surprised when he walked into his kitchen at Grimmauld Place to find Hermione sitting at his table, drinking from one of his glasses, comfortable in his home. He stopped in his tracks, and she stared at him, her drink still at her lips. Time stood still, froze around him as he was held in her gaze.<p>

"Want a refill, Hermione?" Ginny's voice rang out, and the world started moving again. Harry cast his eyes down and headed towards his girlfriend behind the counter, arousing no suspicion.

Hermione cleared her throat. "No, I'm alright."

Ginny turned around and smiled at Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey, stranger," she said, eyes twinkling. His lips met hers and he briefly closed his eyes, allowed Ginny to fill him with her warmth, her silky red hair sliding through his fingers. She broke free from him to return to the table with Hermione and Harry felt cold again.

"We were just _perusing_ some bridal magazines," Ginny said, adopting a coquettishly proper tone that coquettishly proper ladies use and gracefully returned to her seat, a wry smile at her lips. "I'm trying to convince Hermione to get one with magical flames coming out the back, but she's not budging for some reason."

"I apologize for not wanting to be flammable on my wedding day," Hermione replied, and if Harry had looked up, he would see that she was smiling. But he didn't look. He busied himself preparing a sandwich the Muggle way, mostly because he needed something to distract himself from the sordid business being conducted at his table.

"But it would be so worth it to see Ron's face," Ginny said, voice bright. "He'd probably scream and tackle you to the ground, trying to put you out in a burst of heroics. And George would try to light fireworks off your arse."

The girls laughed and Harry chopped a head of lettuce with more force than necessary.

"Why are you looking at dresses now?" he asked them, trying not to sound petulant. "The wedding's not till ages away. You haven't even finished your year at Hogwarts."

It became silent for a beat too long, so apparently he had failed at sounding casual.

"These things take a long time to plan," Hermione answered quietly. Harry still wouldn't look up. "Might as well get a head start."

"Yeah, and when have you known Hermione to put things off to the last minute?" Ginny said. He looked up at her, only her, and her expression was inscrutable.

"I guess you're right." He shrugged and piled on the ingredients of his sandwich. Bread, lettuce, meat, cheese. Easy, organized. Simple.

"There are some tomatoes in the fridge if you want them," Ginny called over her shoulder. "My mum brought them from her garden."

Harry nodded and stuck his head back into the fridge, feeling the cool tendrils make his face only feel hotter in contrast. He grabbed a large red tomato and glanced at the girls again as he returned to his sandwich to see Hermione staring at him. He blinked and she was back to her magazines, looking at them so intently he almost believed he had only imagined it. He set the tomato on the cutting board and lifted the knife.

"So, Hermione," Ginny said coyly, "any plans for the honeymoon?"

An emotion he couldn't define welled up inside Harry and the sharp edge glanced off the tomato, slicing his finger.

"Damn it!" he swore, and went to the sink to run his hand under the cold water. Drops of his blood fell into the sink, crimson against chrome.

"Harry! What is it, what happened?" exclaimed Hermione, alarmed. She had stood as soon she heard him curse, and he looked back at her, taken aback by her extreme reaction. She was grasping her wand tightly, which didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Just cut myself," he muttered, the pain ebbing away. He looked to his side to see Ginny sidle up to him. She smiled and nudged him with her knee.

"Klutz," she teased, and cut the rest of his tomato for him. The emotion he was feeling at the mention of their honeymoon left almost as soon as it came, and he numbly dried his hands. A single bead of blood still oozed from his cut, but he simply didn't care.

"Oh, what time is it?" asked Ginny, glancing at the clock. "Damn, I have to go. I promised Mum I'd help with Teddy today."

Harry felt a flare of guilt that he always felt whenever his godson's name was mentioned. Ginny quickly gave him another peck on the lips before heading back to the table.

"Rain-check for now, but don't think I've forgotten about the butt flame dress. I don't give up that easy, Granger."

Hermione laughed, but it didn't sound entirely natural. Her face was devoid of color and the grip on her wand remained bone tight. "Looking forward to seeing you try," she said. Ginny winked at her before stepping back to Disapparate.

The next moment, Harry and Hermione were alone together for the first time in over a month.

The air felt too thick. Harry retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. The sound of water hitting glass was deafening.

"I suppose I should go too," Hermione murmured, fiddling with the magazines.

"If you want to," Harry said vaguely. His constricted throat was making it difficult for him to speak.

"It's funny," Hermione went on, to Harry's annoyance. "I've never really cared about this kind of stuff. Didn't even give it a second thought. I deemed it all as quite frivolous, actually." She smiled wanly, as if remembering someone else entirely and not just a younger version of herself.

"I suppose the power of true love made you see the light," Harry spat. He knew he was being petty but he didn't care.

Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose and looked up at him. "It's just nice, Harry. That's all."

"I thought you were leaving," he said, cutting his sandwich in half.

"Why are you being so horrible to me?"

He cut off the crusts.

"You can't possibly be jealous."

He cut it into fourths.

He knew he was never going to actually eat the damn thing.

"Harry."

"I'm not jealous," he sighed, putting down the knife. And he was telling the truth. Whatever this feeling was, it wasn't jealousy. On good days, he even liked the idea of his best friends marrying each other.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't have very many good days.

He let his head fall into his hands, propping himself against the counter. He felt rather than heard Hermione step slowly towards him, and when he looked up, he saw that she was close enough to touch. Unbidden, memories sprang up like they always did around her recently. _Hermione, back against the wall, moaning his name, clawing down his back…_

"I'm not jealous," he repeated, staring into her warm brown eyes. "I just don't like…time passing…or something."

Her face scrunched up and he knew he didn't make any sense. At a loss of what else to do, Harry raised himself up to throw his sandwich away in the trash across the room. She watched him carefully.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way," Hermione stated, and it was the worst thing she could have possibly said. Like it was a bloody press release. "I just have to keep moving forward. It's how I deal with things."

"Shagging me wasn't moving forward." Harry spun around to accuse her to her face. "But you did that. Quite a lot."

She looked very small, but she still jutted out her chin in that prideful way that Harry sometimes liked and sometimes didn't. "I did do that. I'm not making excuses for myself. But I'm not the only one to blame here, Harry."

"I'm not trying to blame you," he muttered. "I just...didn't want it to stop. I liked it. Being with you."

That seemed to surprise her. It surprised him, too. They never actually talked about their transgressions; they would just happen, as if sleeping with each other was just something that was happening to them rather than something they were actively doing. She looked down at her feet as a slow blush warmed her cheeks, leaving her flushed and appealing.

"I'm..." she stuttered. "I'm not sure what you want me to say to that."

Harry stepped towards her until he was merely inches away. He could tell she was holding her breath.

"I want to touch you," he said simply. His own heart-rate sped as he watched her breathing become uneven. He wanted her badly, in the way those inane books about swashbucklers bedding mysterious dames describe. He never wanted Ginny like this; so darkly, so uncontrollably. Sometimes it frightened him.

"You shouldn't," she responded, her eyes shining. He did anyways. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and she shivered.

"Harry…"

"Why did you grab your wand?"

She blinked. "What?"

He rested his hand on the softness of her skin more to comfort himself than her, and his eyes traced the dusting of freckles around her nose. "After I cut myself. You freaked out - drew your wand."

Hermione shifted her gaze at the floor. "It's nothing, really. It's just that, sometimes it's like…I'm still _there._ Still fighting. Whenever something happens, anything loud or sudden or unexpected, I'm—I'm still so ready to defend myself. To attack. To hide." She paused, bit her lip. "I feel like I'm going crazy," she ended softly.

"We're all crazy," he responded, his stomach feeling hollow. She snorted.

"Word of advice for the future, Harry; confirming to crazy people that they are crazy isn't exactly comforting."

"Sorry. I'm not good at this stuff."

Her eyes flashed when she looked at him. "What are we going to do?"

She may not have meant it as such, but Harry took that as a dare. He kissed her, kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue along hers and his hands around her body. Kissing Hermione never lost its luster, never failed to make his blood thrum louder in his veins and ears. It was the archaic thrill of conquest, he supposed. She did the same thing every time (apart from the very first time); he would be the aggressor, she the unsure object of his lust. But he knew, he _knew _she wanted him every time, because it always happened the same way.

He would coax her mouth open with his lips, pressing his fingers softly against her neck, feel her pulse quicken. She would respond to him slowly, her lips barely parting, a soft whimper escaping her throat when his tongue lathed hers, looking for all the world like an oh so sweet, oh so innocent blooming daffodil. But Harry knew better. It's easy to see through the pretense when Hermione's bitten him so hard it pierced skin, has opened her legs for him shamelessly, obscenely, and that Harry's most libertine impulses were nothing compared to Hermione's wanton desires in the dead of night. She was the girl who's thought of everything, after all.

But the daffodil was blooming slowly this time. They hadn't really discussed ending their little trysts, their affair that didn't feel like affairs were supposed to, full of drama and billowing sheets and the backs of hands despairingly pressed against foreheads. It felt like surviving. But the last time they had been together, she kept her engagement ring on, and it seemed like a message. Harry wouldn't even have noticed if the diamond hadn't scraped down his side, leaving a light scar that burned like it came from Ron himself.

Burning. That's what kissing her was like, with the pain and the beauty in all. Harry was so caught up in her mouth he hadn't realized he had walked forwards until her back was against the corner of his counter, and the feeling of her in his control made something in his chest threaten to devour them both.

She broke apart the kiss, sighing. He leaned his forehead against hers, not wanting to break connection, trying not to be angry with her for doing so. His body screamed at him to tear her clothes off, throw her on the floor and ravage her, beating his chest.

"We can't do this again," she breathed. "It went on for too long. It's selfish."

Harry growled and pulled down the short sleeves of her dress, revealing the peaks of her breasts. He kissed her like he owned her; his lips claimed hers too hard, his fingers held her face too tightly to his.

"Then tell me to stop," his hands curled around her waist and his teeth grazed her neck. "Tell me to stop, and I'll never touch you again."

She didn't do anything for a while, just stood, shaking and breathing hard while he kissed up her neck, her chin, clutched at her body for possibly the last time. When he felt her press her hips hesitantly against his, Harry decided to up the ante and brushed his fingers against the damp lace of her knickers, just enough to make her gasp. He massaged her tongue with his, hot, wet, and pulled her flush against his body.

And then - oh _god _yes - and then, he felt her hand cup his groin as she fumbled to remove his belt and growled again in victory. Releasing her to take off his own shirt, he noticed that a stain of blood from his cut had smeared on her face. The shocking red was violent on her fair skin, and Harry thought she looked beautiful. And horrible.

He kneaded her breast with one hand and twisted her nipple roughly with the other, knowing she liked when it hurt a little. She mewled and moaned, reaching and grabbing for him like she had done so many times before.

Harry hoisted her by the thighs onto the counter, and a soft exclamation of surprise escaped her mouth when she landed on the cold porcelain. He captured the noise with his open mouth against hers, hiked up her simple blue dress around her waist, not bothering to take the garment completely off. It had been too long since they last did this to go slowly. He spread her legs apart unceremoniously, seeing again faint streaks of his blood on her left breast and on the inside of one of her pale thighs. He felt a bizarre satisfaction at the look of it.

She made low, needy sounds when he ripped off her knickers. Hermione wrapped her hand around him and pumped, once, twice, rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock already leaking with pre-cum. His body was reacting to her touch so desperately he could cry. Unable to wait any longer, Harry lined himself up with her entrance and pushed into her with a grunt, felt her stretch around him. Bliss. She was tight and slick and his first instinct was to drive into her, possess her completely so that no other man would ever compare. But he didn't.

Harry had never had too many hang-ups about sex, not after puberty at least. He remembered the repression at the Dursleys, where if anytime a woman on television showed any inkling of sexual desire, or God forbid, ever actually had a romantic scene, Aunt Petunia would gasp and hurriedly shut off the screen completely. Dudley's face would scrunch up in disappointment, chubby hands clenching into frustrated chubby fists, and his uncle would mumble about the state of the country's morals. The sex that Harry had with Hermione would be their nightmare. It was never gentle, not the awkwardly loving dance of sweethearts discovering the lovely taste of skin against skin for the first time. He would whisper obscene, debauched things in her ears and revel in the feeling of the juices it would cause to run down her thighs, coat his dick. It was twisting and poison and wet; blood roaring in his ears and pounding through his heart and pulsing in his cock and _make me beg_ and _harder_.

No, gentle and sweet had never been an option with Hermione, not when the point of it all was to try to capture a fantasy that neither even knew if they wanted to exist.

But this time, something in him, some part of his brain that wasn't connected to his dick made him pause. He looked into her eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his groin for the moment. He saw confusion in their depths, and something else. Something more. He brought his lips to hers softly, just lips, nothing else. She quietly sighed against him, and brought her hands to his shoulders. It made his heart jump. And then, _she _opened her mouth to his and he welcomed her tongue, forward and sure, into his mouth.

She pulled back from the kiss, placed her hands on his hips and jerked them towards her, pressing his dick to the back of her cunt. "Harry...I want...Harry, come _on_."

The sound of her gasping his name was painfully erotic. He started to move inside of her, and his brain stopped functioning for a while.

It wasn't long before he had her toppling into her first orgasm. He rocked into her slowly, let the pressure build inside her, felt her walls squeeze around him. Hermione came sweetly and clung to him as if she would be blown away without him, as if it wasn't he who was the tornado in the first place.

She sank her teeth into his neck and his arms tightened around her waist. It made him shudder when she wrapped her legs around him and he knew what she wanted now. She was still pulsing around his cock as he drove into her again, hard, in control, and he was sure that her back would be bruised from the force with which she was hitting the cupboard. He lavished her skin with his tongue as he listened to her moan and whine.

Usually, this was his favorite part. The climb before the fall. But it felt empty, which terrified him. Harry was constantly, so _painfully _empty, had been for months. Being with Hermione was his one brief respite he got from it. The danger, the adrenaline, the wrongness; it made him feel so much for just a short while, and he cherished it even though not all of those feelings were good.

But if this somehow stopped working, if shagging her didn't fill him up, he would truly have nothing.

"Are you in love with me?" he asked, not recognizing his own voice. It sounded too gravelly, too raw. Surely they were not his words; they poured out of him like bile, nothing he could do to stop it. He slowed down and brought his hand around her throat, but applied no pressure as he wanted to hear her answer.

She didn't reply for a while, just panted every time he thrust into her.

"Hermione," he grunted.

"I don't know," she cried out, voice strained. "I don't know." Her words were punctuated with moans. Harry took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down; it made her press against him for more.

"Say it anyway," he implored, pounding into her faster now. "Say it anyway, please."

He kissed her neck wetly, letting his tongue form slick paths down the delicate skin, left behind a ghost of another bite. She didn't say anything for a few moments, and Harry was scared to look at her.

"I love you," she finally said breathlessly. "I love you."

Harry was certain he was melting. His body spasmed as the pleasure hit him with full force, his hips jerking recklessly. Harry wanted to devour her. He fought for control that was quickly slipping away and knotted her hair in his fist. Moaning, feeling like all of his nerves were sizzling, he lifted his hips so that he was completely out of her, and then slammed back inside. She yelped, muttering curses and pleas that gave Harry chills. He did it again, fucking her slowly now, but deeply. He was unbridled, unrestrained, and it was like he could feel everything in the world all at once.

"I love you," she moaned louder, in time with his thrusts. "Harry, Harry, I love you, I love you, I love you…" He kissed her again and her words tasted like they were true. He fucked her faster, hearing something that sounded like a dish shatter against the floor next to him but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting as close to Hermione as their bodies would allow. The whole house could collapse around them and he wouldn't have even looked up. He was helpless to her, helpless and hopeless and falling, falling, hearing nothing but the lewd sounds of flesh against wet flesh and Hermione's words that made him finally feel something besides the cloying numbness that had become his life.

"You feel so good," he said, close to a sob. "Hermione. It's so good..." And it was. Her eyes were shrouded with lust, and she was as frantic as he was; gripping him and clutching at his flesh and swirling her tongue around his and _fuck. _The sensations were white hot burning pleasure that made him want to shatter, combust.

"I love you, I love you so much. Oh God, keep going," her voice broke at the end, a perfect sound. Harry thrust into her brutally hard, moaning as he did, his fingers gripping her thighs for purchase. "Harry, I'm-coming-I-love-you-I'm-coming-I'm-coming, oh...!" The muscles in her pussy clenched around him again and she let her head fall back, moaning shamelessly, fingers curling into her hair, then around her own breast. The sight of it was too much and Harry came with a shout, toppling into oblivion.

Release; perfect, awful, brilliant. As close to feeling like he was dying as he's gotten without actually doing so. He wasn't quiet about it and neither was she; every noise she made went straight to his cock and it weeped for her, inside her. Harry's breath came in shallow and shuddering and he saw nothing but stars behind his lids but kept fucking her, if only to feel her convulse around him for a little while longer. She was still whimpering with "I love you's" as she rode out the remaining moments of her climax. He buried his face in her neck and held her tightly, almost wracked with disbelief as he felt himself soften inside of her. It was the best orgasm of his entire life.

And then she was shoving him off of her.

"Off," she said quietly. Light-headed and hazy from his release, Harry didn't move, didn't understand, didn't want to part from her. "Off me, get off of me!" she cried, angry tears now streaming down her face. "You selfish, boorish, _arse_!" A sharp pain hit Harry's chest as she pushed him with all the force she could muster.

"What is it?" he couldn't think straight. She still looked both horrifying and erotic, streaked with his cum and blood. It muddled his head.

"That's all you do, isn't it? You just take and take without any reciprocation, and damn the consequences!" She got off the counter and tried to fix her torn dress, her face splotchy and hair twined in knots."'Say it anyway'? Christ, Harry! Why would you ask me that?"

Harry stuttered, fixing his own clothes, shoving himself back inside his pants painfully. "I don't - I don't know, I was just - just - You weren't exactly complaining!"

She glared at him. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to ask that of me." She sniveled, wiped snot and tears from her face. "This is stupid. Childish. I know you have...unresolved issues, Harry, but you can't just - you can't just keep dragging me down with you."

Fury made his fists clench, his whole body tremble. He fought down the urge to shake her forcefully by the shoulders, scream in her face. "Oh and you're an angel then, are you? You're the poor victim of the predatory Harry Potter? Don't forget who started all this. 'Cause it wasn't me."

She gaped at him, her retort dying in her throat, tears freezing before they fell. Harry felt a smug satisfaction. He knew what her reaction would be before he even said those words. But he also felt a bit guilty. They never discussed that night, the first night she came to him, because it was so charged with raw and violent pain it was simply unbearable to reminisce over.

"_Harry," she had sputtered, bushy hair sticking to her face from her tears. "Harry, I think I'm dying." _

_Harry had stared at her, his own eyes bloodshot and heavy. It hadn't even been a week since the Final Battle, and he still hadn't been able to sleep through an entire night. "What are you talking about?" _

_She crumpled against him, and he half-carried her over to his couch. He had seen her in some of his darkest times and hers, but she had never looked so horrible as she did now. A hideous, shaking mass of hysteria. _

_She climbed onto him, clinging to his neck. "I'm dying, or dead. Or we're dead. We must be dead. I can't sleep, I can't breathe. So I must be dead. I saw you dead, I saw you _dead!_ We're all dead. Ron must be dead…" she rambled on. Harry shook her lightly, brought his hands to her face to look at him. He let himself cry too. He cried for her and for himself. _

"_Hermione," he choked out. "I'm alive. You're alive. We're okay." _

_She looked up at him, suddenly silent. It scared Harry. "No, we're not," she whispered. And then she kissed him. Kissed him with desperation and pain and Harry let her. She took off her clothes and Harry let her. She took off his clothes and Harry let her. She clambered onto his lap and sank down onto him, rode him while sobbing onto his chest and Harry…_

_Harry let her. _

"Go on, get your stupid Witch Wedding magazines and go home to your loving fiancé. It's still early, he might not be drunk in a puddle of his own vomit yet."

She had softened now, probably from recalling the memory of their first night together. But her eyes were still sharp on him. "Don't, Harry. He's still grieving. He's trying his best."

Some of Harry's anger had dissipated as well. "Well, so am I. So is everyone."

Hermione looked down and another quiet sob tore through her chest. Harry felt like he should comfort her. But what right had he to? He wouldn't even know how. She returned to the table and shakily gathered her wedding magazines, covers glittery with twirling, smiling brides. Harry helped stack them neatly and handed them to her without a word.

Before she Disapparated, he took one of her hands in his. "I do love you, you know," he said quietly, looking at their hands instead of her eyes. "I don't know if…I don't know if it's in the right way, like in the way Ron...but I do."

She didn't smile. "You say that like it's a good thing."

He let go of her hand and she was immediately gone.

* * *

><p>AN: Can I even write romance without angst? Nope! Especially not with these two. I think I'm gonna make this into three chapters, and it'll delve more into Ginny and Ron's characters in the future. Ginny was so untroubled in this chapter but don't worry she shall angst as well! If you read Coping Mechanisms you could see she's pretty f! #$^^ked up too (nudge…you might as well read it… it's only one chapter… And there's ~sex~) Thanks for reading, reviews are very welcome as always! xoxoxo


	2. Drunk Men Tell Tales

_Jenny, I am in trouble  
>Can't get these thoughts out of me<br>Jenny, I'm seeing double  
>I know this changes everything. <em>

"This is the Last Time" - The National

* * *

><p>Harry always felt safest in his black Auror robes. In control, powerful. A protector. But sometimes, it still wasn't enough.<p>

They were conducting a simple training exercise, practicing hexes on dummies. Harry excelled in all aspects of his training, most likely due to his indirect preparation for works such as this for most of his life. He was surrounded by familiar faces, as everyone who took part in the Battle of Hogwarts was allowed a slot in the Auror Office.

But maybe the familiar faces made it worse.

His fellow trainees were all lined up beside him in a single row, waiting for their mannequins to materialize. The goal was to spare the civilians and hex the Death Eaters. Curse a Death Eater, you gain five points. Curse a civilian, you lose ten. It seemed silly to most of them; they've all fought in battles with more on the line than points.

_Crack! _Harry's first dummy was a civilian, and he held his fire. In his peripheral vision he saw Ron blast a Death Eater so well it blew back against the wall, and felt a tug of pride for his friend.

_Crack! _A blank face in Death Eater robes appeared before Harry. He raised his wand, the spell _Baubillious! _on his tongue, but such a strong sense of déjà vu swept over him that his stomach rolled with nausea. He keeled over, gasping for breath, heart racing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he felt such an extreme panic that he didn't even doubt his instincts. _Something's gone wrong, something's gone wrong, we're all in danger, we have to get out.._. He moved to bolt to the door, but a pair of arms stopped him.

"Harry? Harry?" A familiar voice questioned.

Harry's eyes were wild, and he shook terribly in Ron's arms but allowed his friend to hold him up. It took a while for him to fully recognize Ron's face, and that scared him more than anything. He gulped for breath and felt his senses begin to return to him, and the terror that made all his muscles lock up began to ebb away. He slowly removed Ron's hands from his shoulders. Once he had finally calmed down enough to remember where he was, who he was, he scanned the room. Everyone had turned around to stare at him. Some with pity, some with arrogance.

He hated the ones with pity more.

"Weasley, why don't you take Potter outside? You'll be excused from today's exercise." The officer leading the training said. Ron clapped Harry on the back.

"Come on, mate," he said, walking in front of Harry to the door. Harry was glad Ron didn't walk behind him, supporting his back and forcing him out as if he was a misbehaving child.

They walked in silence through the halls of the Office. Witches and wizards pretended not to ogle him as he walked by, but he knew they were. He always knew. Another bout of nausea hit him.

"Need to go to the bathroom…" he muttered, despising the fact that he sounded like a student asking for permission. Ron's eyes were understanding, at least.

"Alright, just don't go retching on me. I've got an image to keep up, you know. You wouldn't understand the pressures of always having to look good when you're as famous as me."

Harry let out a chuckle that he only had to force a little. The two rounded the corner into the lavatory.

There was one old wizard at the far end of the sinks, cleaning his glasses and whistling to himself. Harry held on tightly to the metal sink and tried to focus on not vomiting. He took off his glasses and splashed cold water on his face, trying to will away this strange feeling. It had happened a couple of times before, but never this strongly. Not very surprisingly, Hermione's voice came into his head. _"It feels like I'm still _there…_still fighting…I feel like I'm going crazy."_

Was this insanity? He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was still dark and messy, he still had green eyes, that prominent lightning scar that for so long was the only thing about himself he liked. He looked for something in his eyes that might be an indicator that he had snapped, that everything he had done and everything he was had finally caught up to him.

The old man to the right of him kept whistling, and Harry wanted to bash his chubby, wrinkled face into the mirror.

That made him pause. Was that violence always there, lurking under the surface, or was it new? That was the thing about going mad. You can't trust your own mind to figure it out.

"Oi," he heard Ron say. "Hey, Wrinkles, that's as good as they're gonna get, alright? Piss off already."

The man made an offended noise and left in a huff. Harry smiled weakly at his friend.

"Thanks for that."

"Anytime. Bugger couldn't hold a tune anyways."

Harry put his glasses back on. The buzzing in his ears and veins was dying down. Ron put a hand on his shoulder and he turned to face him.

"You okay, Harry?" he asked. Harry felt emotion clog his throat at the concern in his friend's voice.

"Yeah," he said weakly. Ron pulled him into an embrace. Harry clapped him on the back in that way blokes do to not feel uncomfortable in a hug, that way Hermione would have rolled her eyes at. Harry felt a stab of guilt low in his stomach thinking of Hermione.

"I can't do this without you," Harry said, voice thick, really meaning it. Ron pulled away, looking at him with bemusement.

"You won't ever have to," Ron said. He sounded so sure. Harry wasn't.

"Come on," Ron continued, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders. "I think you need a drink."

* * *

><p>They ended up at the Leaky Cauldron, which had made no real efforts at renovation since the War. Still gloomy, still shabby, still filled with the smoke of old pipes smoked by even older wizards, the pub's static nature was actually a bit of a comfort to Harry. Both Harry and Ron had several drinks before night even fell, although Ron had a few more than Harry. He knew that he shouldn't be drinking with Ron, knew that his friend was using it as a crutch, but tonight seemed like a good night to compromise his ideals. And who else did he have to get drunk with in the middle of the day?<p>

Harry was drinking deeply from his (fourth? fifth?) glass of brandy when the doors opened to reveal a small, somber group. He saw Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas enter first, side by side as usual. Then Cho Chang, then the Parvati twins, Hannah Abbott, Fay Dunbar, another girl he didn't know the name of but knew was Hermione's old roommate, and, to his surprise, Pansy Parkinson. He bristled a bit, not forgetting that the last time he had seen Pansy she attempted to sell him out to Voldemort. She brought up the rear and was accompanied by a tall man with a pinched face Harry had never seen before, and they headed for the back of the pub away from everyone else.

"What's all this, then?" Ron exclaimed, smiling at his friends. The four boys quickly exchanged embraces, and each of the girls smiled at them before sitting at a table nearby. Cho gave Harry a very small hug before sitting down, and it made Harry feel awkward.

"Barman!" Ron barked, "Another round, posthaste!"

"You know my name, Ronald," the owner replied tiredly. Ron slammed his fist on the bar.

"No time for pleasantries, barman!"

"Sorry, Tom," Harry said, tossing him some Galleons. "Another round on me."

"Cheers, Harry," said Dean, nodding towards him with his glass. The boys sat down with Harry and Ron at the bar while the girls were served their drinks. It was quiet for a moment as they all took large gulps of whiskey, and Harry finished his to the last dregs. His head was swimming nicely and he felt a familiar and pleasant heat rise to the back of his neck.

"So what are we all out for, eh?" Ron asked gregariously. "Little reunion?"

Dean and Seamus exchanged looks. Harry saw the girls tense from the corner of his eye.

"Do you not know what today is?" Seamus said, looking at Ron strangely. Ron glanced back at Harry, who shrugged. He didn't know what Seamus was talking about either.

Seamus took another long drink, and opened his mouth to speak again. However, Parvati beat him to it. She looked at Ron pointedly, with watery eyes and an expression on her face that Harry had never seen her wear before. She choked out, her cracked voice the only thing that betrayed the fierceness in her words, "Today is Lavender's birthday. At least, it would've been."

Everyone suddenly found the floor to be very interesting.

Harry immediately and fervently wished he wasn't drunk anymore. His body was reacting strangely to the news, too hot and too restless, and he forced down the odd, nervous desire to laugh.

"Oh," said Ron, running a hand across his face as if suddenly realizing he was exhausted. "Well." He raised his drink. "A toast, to Lavender Brown." He swayed and his mouth twisted into something that was neither a smile nor a frown. He paused and stared gloomily at his former classmates for effect. "The girl I used and threw away, because I am a selfish cunt."

Ron drained the glass. Harry didn't feel like laughing anymore. Pansy rolled her eyes but drank her whiskey a little too quickly to seem casual, and Harry wondered what that was about in spite of himself. Parvati let out a soft sob as she hid her face in Padma's shoulder, and Harry was greeted with the urgent and uncomfortable feeling that it was time for them to leave.

Thankfully, Ron felt it too. He got up, wobbling, from his stool and started his stumbling walk out the door. Before making it out, however, he reached behind the counter and snagged a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, to Tom's annoyance.

"Hey!" he cried, his gray eyebrows knotting together angrily.

Ron pointed to Harry. "What? I'm with the Chosen One!" and popped the lid before taking a swig. Harry mumbled another apology and gave Tom some more money for the bottle.

"All hail," he heard someone grumble scornfully behind him, but he was already out the door.

They didn't want to Apparate for fear they may get sick, so the inebriated duo opted to walk back to Ron's flat he shared with Hermione. That is until they stumbled across a 24-hour broom rental shop, and giddily hopped onto a pair of fraying Nimbus 1700s. After a while of drunkenly flying around, they were sternly stopped by a member of the Ministry Police. The officer barked them down and drew his wand at them when instead of complying, Ron cackled and dropped a glob of Ooze from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on his head. Red-faced and brandishing his wand, the officer shot Ron down and proceeded to arrest him. Ron shouted in contention and Harry forced himself to stop smiling before descending to the ground.

"Excuse me, officer, but that won't be necessary." Harry said, trying to sound firm.

The man's eyes grew wide. "H-Harry Potter? I'm—I'm so sorry, sir, please forgive me, I didn't realize—"

"Yeah," roared Ron. "Un-cuff me and maybe we'll forget about your little mistake, eh? Wouldn't want your boss to hear about this."

"Yessir, sorry sirs," he stuttered, releasing Ron from the magical shackles. The two gave the officer harrowing looks.

"You watch yourself, alright?" said Harry, struggling to hold back laughter. "Next time I might not be so forgiving."

The man looked down. "Absolutely. Won't happen again, sir."

Harry and Ron turned their backs on him and tried their best to walk in a straight line. When they were far enough away, they nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles that made Harry feel like he'd never be able to stop laughing again. Times like this, he thought he might be alright after all.

"Come on," said Ron after wiping the tears from his eyes. "Time for us to get home to the missus."

It bothered Harry, when Ron referred to Hermione like that. Like she was jointly theirs. But it might have only bothered him because he felt like it was true.

* * *

><p>They finally made it back to the flat, and both Harry and Ron managed to get even drunker as the night wore on thanks to the bottle Ron had the not so brilliant idea to take. It was very late, and they tried to be as quiet as possible going into their place so they wouldn't wake Hermione. Harry helped support Ron's rapidly drooping body, and slowly, achingly slowly, began turning the knob in the quietest fashion possible—<p>

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Hermione had thrown open the door so quickly Harry almost fell down from shock. She thundered over them, somehow appearing to tower over the boys despite the fact she was smaller than both of them. Ron tried to smile.

"Heeey, 'ermione, we were jush—"

"Oh, save it!" she threw her hands up and stalked away.

Ron made a face at Harry and Harry grimaced in return. They crossed the threshold and saw Hermione on the couch, fuming, with her arms crossed over her. But she was glaring only at Harry, and not Ron, which Harry felt was a bit unfair. He made sure Ron got home safe, after all. They shuffled up the stairs and headed towards the bedroom, but Ron suddenly grabbed at Harry's shirt, looking pale.

"Actually," he slurred, "maybe we should stop at the loo firsh."

Harry grunted and shifted direction, pulling Ron towards the lavatory. It was a pretty nice flat, as the Ministry had generously compensated all three of them for their work in the War and Ron could finally afford something good of his own. (Actually, they had tried to compensate Harry, but he had insisted his portion go equally to Ron and Hermione. He didn't need it, after all.)

Harry tried his best to place Ron gracefully on the floor, but it didn't work out too well. The drunk helping the drunker never does.

"Sorry about 'ermione," Ron said, struggling to find a comfortable position. Harry frowned.

"Don't worry about it." It felt wrong, to have Ron apologize on behalf of Hermione to him. He realized that's what married people do. Ron and Hermione were a unit now, responsible for the actions of both themselves and their partner. Harry hated that.

"She worries, but, tha's good, to have someone worried about you." Ron closed his eyes dreamily. "Ah, mate. We did it. We won, we've settled down. Fell in love."

Harry's head was starting to hurt.

"I'm getting married to the love…my life. Love of my life. Tha's what she says too. She wants to marry me! Fancy that."

It was suddenly very hot. When did it get so hot? Perspiration built on Harry's forehead and he wiped it away.

"And then, you know, we've got careers. And then we'll have kids. And you'll marry Ginny and you'll have kids, and those kids will have kids…and it's like…none of this bad stuff will have even happened. Everyone will jus' forget and love and live and be happy. I can't wait for that."

The nausea was back. But it wasn't from the alcohol. The walls were closing in on Harry and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"I'm going to get some water," he croaked, and all but fled the bathroom.

"Okey hokey, I'm gonna…be on the floor. It's a very nice floor."

Harry heard Ron crumple behind him as he raced down the stairs two at a time. Hermione was waiting for him, hands on her hips, a cross expression on her face.

"What is wrong with you?" She snapped. "How are we supposed to be a support system if you enable him like this? You're supposed to be helping him deal with his feelings, not getting pissed with him at some disgusting pub—"

Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at her but not seeing her. What he saw in a Hermione-shaped space was a trap-door: a beautiful, (loud), escape rope that made his skin sing when she touched him and the cushy future that seemed to be spinning increasingly out of his control crumble into dust. A key to a past that everyone was so damn content to lock away. But Harry couldn't lock it away. He didn't want to move on. He walked steadily towards her, his brain somewhere still on the top of the stairs, and every step was a deliberate assassination of the words that sent him down here.

_Settle down…you'll marry Ginny…you'll have kids…everyone will just forget…_

He pulled her close and kissed her. He immediately felt all the tension in his chest leave him the second his lips met hers. He didn't care if Ron came down and saw them, wouldn't care if Ginny popped up and caught them, wouldn't care if the whole world condemned them. She felt like heaven in his arms.

Turns out, heaven throws sucker punches. She struck him hard in the gut, and he fell away from her, clutching at his stomach.

"What. Are. You. _Thinking?_" she seethed, teeth bared. "This is my _home_! That I share with my fiancé! Your best friend, who, in case you have forgotten, is right upstairs."

"Blimey, Hermione," groaned Harry, still doubled over in pain. "You didn't have to hit me quite that hard."

"Oh, you'll live. You always do," she muttered before walking into their delicately furnished kitchen. It was the kitchen that Harry could most easily see touches of both Hermione and Ron; warm, muted colors that Hermione liked, that were reminiscent of an English professor's study. But then there was also that charming Weasley clutter, cakes that Hermione surely didn't bake and kitschy accessories that Hermione definitely wouldn't select. Harry wanted to smash all of it to bits.

Hermione put the kettle on and sighed. "Would you like some tea as well?"

Harry looked blankly at her. "You just punched me in the stomach."

She lit the stove with her wand and faced him. "You snogged me with Ron upstairs. What did you think I would do?" she whispered harshly.

Harry made a face. "Not punch me in the stomach."

"It was a reflex," she answered.

"Bloody awful reflex."

She scoffed. "I'm _so_ sorry that I wasn't in the greatest of spirits after my boyfriend came home and could barely stand. That was _definitely_ an opportune time for you to romance me."

Harry's voice was dead flat. "Is that what we are? Some kind of romance?"

Hermione blushed and looked like she was glad she had an excuse to turn around when the kettle started screaming. Harry noticed her hands were shaking when she poured the boiling water into a tea pot.

"You do realize," she said, her voice unsteady, "that I haven't the slightest idea of what it is we are."

Harry leaned back against the table, starting to feel woozy. He closed his eyes and his voice cracked when he spoke again. "Damn. I thought you would know. You're supposed to be the smart one."

She was quiet. "I'm not so sure, these days."

Harry's eyes opened at that. "I'm sure. I'm always sure about you."

She clutched her mug as she stared at him. "You shouldn't talk to me like that."

"Like what? Nicely?"

"Like—" Hermione gestured into empty space as if it would bring her the answers. "Like you're in love with me. It's not healthy."

Harry's mouth fell open. She looked at him expectantly, as if she had just answered a question in school correctly and was waiting for him to dole her a compliment and a couple points for Gryffindor. Harry's lip curled. "I am so sick of you."

"Harry—"

"I mean it. I really do. You're toxic." Harry was astounded, infuriated with her. He felt like she was singlehandedly shredding his sanity into pieces and the alcohol made him louder than he would normally have been.

"Just calm down," she said, holding her cup of tea like a crucifix.

"I won't. I'm tired of you jerking me around, making me feel like I'm some kind of deviant even though you've been using me just as much as I've been using you—"

"Harry, are you sure you don't want some tea—"

"NO, I DON'T WANT ANY BLOODY TEA!" he bellowed, fists clenched.

"Keep your voice down!"

"No!" He grabbed whatever was nearest to him and threw it to the ground. Light pink plates. They shattered and rebounded off the floor, narrowly missing Hermione's exposed legs. "And this kitchen is _ugly_!"

He reached behind him again, wanting to destroy something else that was loved. He hurled a square object against the wall, and when it fell to the floor, face up, Harry saw what it was.

A picture. Ron, Hermione and himself were smiling and waving together at a banquet. It had been at a celebration about a month after the battle at Hogwarts, and the three of them were honored guests, with other members of the D.A. also recognized. They looked almost like a family.

Harry sank to the floor, cradling the photo. He saw the debris from his outburst floating into the air as Hermione charmed the kitchen clean. After she vanished the rubble, she sat down next to him, trembling slightly.

"Sorry," he mumbled, a couple of tears falling from his face. Hermione was the only person he could cry in front of. It wasn't as if it was on purpose, it just naturally didn't happen around anyone else. "I don't really think your kitchen is ugly."

"It's okay," she said quietly. She stared at the moving photo in his hands for a while. "I was so miserable that day."

Harry wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Yeah, me too."

"We look happy in the picture, at least." She dropped her head hesitantly onto his shoulder. "Sometimes I wish I could live in pictures."

It was in that moment Harry realized why they were so alike now. Despite what she said, she wasn't ready to move forward either. She was as stuck as he was. They stayed sitting there together for a long time. It felt familiar, felt like how it was when they were hunting for horcruxes, just the two of them. They had grown accustomed to hiding in cramped spaces, terrified to even breathe in case they might be heard. It should have made Harry have a similar episode as the one earlier at Auror training, this strong sense of déjà vu that made him feel like he was back to where he was just a short year ago. Instead, it calmed him.

"I'm sorry about the other day," he slurred. "You know, when we - "

"Harry, you don't have to - "

"No. I shouldn't have..." Harry took hold of her hand, traced one of her fingertips. "I shouldn't have asked you to say...that thing. That was wrong."

Hermione scooted closer to him. "I'm sorry too. I was mean. I think I'm meaner than I used to be. Can we just forget it, please?"

Harry pressed his lips to the top of her hair. "You're not mean."

They kissed, just once, chaste and sweet. Harry had done almost everything on earth to her body and yet was sated, tonight, with this kiss. When he left to go home he almost told her that he loved her, but didn't know if he meant it, and didn't know if she'd say it back.

_The hardest thing about life_, he thought to himself,_ is the not knowing. _Harry reckoned it was a very profound thought. And then he passed out, face down, in their neighbor's front yard.


	3. Public Indecency

_I fuck 'cause I need to  
>I fuck when I want<em>

_..._

_I'll fucking digest you  
>One kiss at a time<br>You wish I was yours  
>And I hope that you're mine.<em>

"Lurk" - The Neighborhood

* * *

><p><em>Harry was back at Hogwarts, sitting in his potions class. Snape sneered and towered over him, wand pointed at his face. <em>

"_Look at you," he snarled, grip tightening on his wand. "Still a sniveling, simpering coward. You can't hide anything from me, Potter. I know _everything_." _

_Harry panicked and tried his hardest to flex his ability to perform Occlumency. He knew he was failing. His eyes narrowed at Snape and he gritted his teeth. _

"_Stay out of my head!" _

"_Harry!" wailed a female voice next to him. He looked and saw Lavender Brown, all big curls and smeared makeup, on her knees beside him. "Harry, where is Won-Won? I want my Won-Won! I'm so alone!" Her fingers clawed at his arm. _

_Harry's eyes widened, confused. "Lavender?" _

"_Dobby misses you, Harry Potter. Dobby would do anything for you." Dobby suddenly materialized on top of Harry's desk, and was looking at Harry with adoration on his face. "Why didn't Harry Potter save Dobby? Dobby saved Harry Potter."_

"_I'm - I'm sorry, I couldn't do anything - " _

"_Well, well. This is who you grew up to be, eh?" Fred frowned at him. Glared, more like. "What have you been getting up to with my little brother's girlfriend, then? This is how you repay him? Repay me?" _

_He was interrupted by Teddy Lupin's wailing. He screamed hysterically, an unending cry of pain. _

"_Self-righteous, impudent, stupid - " _

"_I'm all alone! I hate this, I hate this!" _

"_Can't believe I died for you. And this is what you've become. Hope Georgie beats you bloody for me himself." _

"_Dobby didn't want to die, Harry Potter. Dobby didn't want to." _

_The bawling of an orphaned child. _

_Harry covered his ears with his hands and shut his eyes tightly, not knowing what else to do. As soon as he did, it went quiet. He looked up to see the figure of Dumbledore standing alone before him. _

_It was at that moment that Harry realized he could use his legs. He sprang forwards, going straight for Dumbledore's throat. _

"_You!" he shouted at his former headmaster, former mentor, former hero. Rage drove him forward, a kind of rage that could burn cities to ash. "You!" His hands tightened around Dumbledore's neck and he threw him against the wall. _

"_Harry, my boy," said Dumbledore, not at all hindered by the hands pressing down on his windpipe. "What is the matter?" _

"_You did this to me!" Harry yelled, feeling like his anger was the only thing that kept him from floating away. "I was a kid! You didn't_ _have to make this all so hard!" Harry sputtered a bit, voice catching from his tears. "It was so hard." _

_Dumbledore's eyes narrowed to slits. "I thought you could handle it, Harry. I hadn't factored the apparent weakness of your spirit. I apologize, then, for overestimating you. You _were _a child. And it looks as if you still are." _

_The words hit Harry like a barrage of arrows. He kept squeezing, wanting to make them stop, needing to. And then Dumbledore started to change. His white hair turned brown and curly, he shrank beneath Harry's grip into something feminine and soft. _

"_Go on then, Harry," Hermione said, bringing her hands up to meet his to encourage the murder at his fingertips. "Kill me or shag me. Only options. It doesn't matter, really. We'll all end up hating you regardless." _

"_It's true, mate." Ron came up behind him, followed by Ginny. "You're going to lose us all. All because you're a greedy prat." _

"_Pervert," agreed Ginny. _

_Despair. _

"_Please," begged Harry. "Please, don't." _

_Hermione took his face in her hands. Brought him close, like they were going to kiss. _

"_You did this to yourself." _

Harry woke up in a brush of bright yellow tulips, gasping for air. He trembled from the memory of his nightmare and clung desperately to the relief of reality. His stomach rolled as he tried to sit up, and his head hurt so badly he was afraid it might have split open. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. A white fence, a sunny day.

A couple staring at him in alarm.

A balding, portly man was holding his even portlier wife as they gaped at him, still in their pajamas and robes. Harry slowly got to his feet and brushed off his clothes, which were covered in dirt and grass.

"Harry Potter?" the man said, mouth hanging open.

"...Hello," Harry lilted, groggy and in pain. The couple stayed rooted to the spot.

"Erm," the large gentleman stuttered, his curiosity outweighing how star-struck he was, "Why are you in my garden?"

"Uh." Harry racked his brain. "Doing a bit of reconnaissance, for the Ministry, you understand. We're tracking down, um - Nargles."

"In my tulips?" the woman questioned, looking anxious and puzzled.

"We're being very thorough," said Harry, his head pounding. "But don't worry, the threat is cleared here, so...you'll be just fine." It wasn't the best lie he'd ever told. Not the worst, either.

He took off. "Thank you, Mr. Potter!" the man exclaimed behind him, and Harry waved without turning around, sure that he would vomit if he attempted such trickery as turning _and _waving.

He did, in fact, make it home before vomiting. Well, nearly. The outside of steps that once led the way to the sanctuary of the Order was now covered in a mixture of Firewhisky and steak and kidney pie. Harry made his way inside and collapsed on the couch, not bothering with trying to make it to his bed.

"Is Master not feeling well?" Kreacher's sardonic voice was right by his ear, and Harry jumped in surprise.

"Just tired, Kreacher," Harry grumbled bitterly. He didn't want the house-elf to know he was hungover.

"I see," Kreacher replied. "I'll clean up the mess you made outside," then, under his breath, "Though it serves you right, mixing with Mudbloods and blood traitors, the shame of it, their stinking, vile, filthy - "

"KREACHER!" Harry managed to muster a shout.

"Kreacher didn't say anything, Master, no, not a thing…"

After cleaning up his sick, Kreacher went about cleaning the dishes in the kitchen in the loudest possible manner. He clanged dishes together and banged steel pots and pans roughly on counters and in cupboards. Every noise set Harry's teeth on edge and made his headache thump behind his eyelids.

"Kreacher! Do that later!"

The banging stopped. "Yes, of course, Master. Kreacher lives to serve, he does, lives to serve…"

Harry was granted sleep for a few miraculous hours before hearing the spark of Floo powder in his fireplace.

"Harry!" Arthur Weasley's charred face peered out at him. Thinking that it was the most challenging thing he's ever had to do, Harry sat up to look at him.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Oh, sorry to wake you, Harry, but, um, would you mind coming to the Burrow? Now, if you could? "

"Why? What's going on?"

Mr. Weasley's face looked...embarrassed? Worried? "It's - it's Ginny."

Harry jumped to his feet. His head spun and he held onto the couch for support but he remained standing and drew his wand. "What's wrong? What's happened to her?"

Mr. Weasley tutted. "Oh, no, don't worry! It's nothing like that. It's just, well, she's...just come."

He disappeared. Harry immediately threw Floo powder into the fire and all but leaped into the green flames, shouting "The Burrow!"

He stepped out of the Weasley's fireplace, adrenaline flooding his veins. The scene he came across shocked him.

And being Harry Potter, that was a difficult task for anything to do.

The Burrow was a disaster. Things were destroyed, blown to bits, shattered. George was holding back Ginny's arms as if stopping her from a fight, and she was screaming herself hoarse in his arms, her wand on the floor. It looked as if most of the abuse she spewed was being directed at Mrs. Weasley, and - had Ginny really drawn her wand on her own mother?

"How dare you! HOW DARE YOU? You think I'm still ten years old? You can control everything I do? Everything I think?"

Mrs. Weasley had tears dripping down her face, and she pointed her wand at her only daughter defensively. "Ginny, I didn't mean to suggest anything - "

"Like HELL you didn't! I know exactly what you were saying! Just like I knew what you were saying when you thought I was a slag at school!"

"I would _never_ call you that - "

"Oh, the humanity!" Ginny threw her head back against George's chest, pantomiming anguish. "The daughter of the angelic Molly Weasley - a common whore! What went wrong? Oh, what in Merlin's name went so wrong?"

Molly locked eyes with Harry, who hadn't moved a muscle throughout the exchange. Ginny followed her mother's stare and finally saw him as well. Her eyes lost their fervor when they connected with his, she stopped yelling, and went slack in George's arms. Arthur emerged from the corner and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry's come to see you, Ginny." he said placatingly. Ginny's eyes narrowed at her father.

"Yes, Dad, I can see that, as I'm not blind or mentally deficient, shockingly enough." She shook herself free from George's arms and walked towards Harry, who still hadn't moved, genuinely unnerved by his girlfriend. Wildly, he imagined this was how Hermione must have felt last night. Ginny strode out the door, and Harry followed, after exchanging an ambiguous look with George.

"I hate her," Ginny spat. Harry had taken her to walk on a path just outside of Hogsmeade, so they could be alone; _but not too alone_, he thought darkly, remembering the violent crime she had left behind. She glowered at the ground and kicked stones that were in her way.

"No you don't," Harry replied. He also kicked a rock that had the audacity to exist beneath his shoe.

"Don't do that. Don't tell me how I feel," she snapped, rounding on him. He looked at her tiredly. His head still hurt, and now that the adrenaline had faded, familiar apathy returned to settle in his bones.

"What happened, Gin?"

Ginny's mouth turned into a hard line. "She said that I ought to reconsider playing Quidditch after this year. Said that I should study up to be a _healer_ instead. A bloody healer!" She kicked a rock with extra force. "I'm a Quidditch player! That's what I do, it's what I love! I told her that, and she goes, she goes - 'The aggression isn't good for you right now.'" Ginny snorted. "Aggression. What a load of rubbish. What she's actually saying is, 'Ginny, dear, why don't you just settle down, already? Focus on learning how to cook, on how to pop out babies, that's what'll make you happy, if you'd be just like me!'"

She scowled at the face of the woman that wasn't even there. Harry tried, but he didn't understand what had Ginny so upset about this. He was too exhausted, too uninterested; _too thick_, he added to himself. It also disturbed him to hear Ginny mention anything about popping out babies anytime soon, hypothetical or not. His mind drifted, thought of his nightmare. Nightmares weren't something foreign to Harry, but that one lingered in his mind like the after-effects of some sickly poison. What bothered him most was his reaction to Dumbledore, the raw anger that even now he could feel breathing in his chest, waiting to be released. Harry had come to peace with Dumbledore, hadn't he? _Maybe I should tell Hermione about it_, Harry thought, shuffling his feet. _Might leave out a detail or two though…_

"Harry? Are you listening?"

Harry looked up to see Ginny staring at him curiously. She reached out and took his hand. "Is everything okay?"

Harry could've laughed. Ginny had just torn up her house and threatened her own mother, and _she's _asking if _he's _okay? He could've laughed, but it pissed him off too much. He moved his hand away from hers. "Were you actually going to hurt your mum?"

It was like he could see her face crumble under the weight of his question. "No, I wouldn't I…" She sighed. "I honestly don't know. I completely lost it, I just...I lost it."

Harry looked down, feeling ashamed of her. He was a hypocrite and he knew it, but it didn't mitigate the disappointment.

"It's just," she continued, her flaming hair falling over her face, "whenever I feel like someone's trying to control me, something just snaps. And I know it's awful, but after Voldemort possessed me…"

She trailed off and stared into the beginnings of the sunset, splashing gold and warmth across her alabaster skin. Sometimes Harry forgets how beautiful she is until moments like this. He wished he were a good enough person to deserve it.

Her eyes blazed hotter than the sun. "After Voldemort possessed me I swore to myself I'd never let that happen again. I'd sooner die than not be in complete control of myself. I'd rather bleed and suffer and die."

Harry drew her into an embrace even though he wanted to push her away. Sometimes he and Ginny were just too bloody similar. Of course, having a partner who's so much like you isn't necessarily a bad thing.

As long as you don't hate yourself.

She pulled away and smiled at him tightly, eyes dry. Harry thought Hermione would have cried, if she had been in Ginny's place at this moment. Her tears would catch briefly on her feathery eyelashes before sliding down her cheeks, and Harry would look away, look down, look anywhere else because he never knew what to do with crying girls or with crying in general because crying was never allowed for him, not even when he was a child; he was raised not to cry, never cry, get into the cupboard now stay silent and if you're hungry that's too damn bad we don't owe you anything stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about stop crying you ugly little worthless nothing stop crying stop crying stop -

"Fancy a Butterbeer?" Ginny suggested, already turning back to follow the road to Hogsmeade. Harry followed silently and blinked away tears that were not there.

By the time they entered the bustling streets of Hogsmeade Harry realized the last meal he ate ended up on his doorstep, so he and Ginny decided on The Three Broomsticks for an early dinner. The walk there was a bit awkward and halting, as people would constantly want to stop the two for autographs and tearful expressions of their gratitude. Women would sometimes brake mid-step and stare open-mouthed, or giggle with nervousness, maybe even blow Harry a kiss, which Ginny always found funny. Men would stare at Ginny, then, realization dawning on their faces, turn to gawp at Harry. Then go back to stare at Ginny again. Harry never found that funny.

Harry ducked his head before going inside the pub, trying not to attract attention. He caught a glimpse of familiar curly hair and looked up to see Hermione settle into a booth with Ron on the opposite side of her, two waters in hand.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, gliding to their table in the corner. Harry walked stiffly behind her, glad they were seated away from everyone else. Hermione looked up and smiled at Ginny in recognition, and then at him, and it made something strange and warm burst in his chest.

"Damn. My brother's here too. I was hoping you were having an affair and Harry and I could talk to someone interesting for a change." Ginny joked. Hermione laughed too hard and sweat beaded on the back of Harry's neck.

"Watch it, Gin. I made you eat mud once and I can do it again," said Ron, though his words didn't have much impact since he looked so miserable. His eyes were bloodshot and he rested his head on his arm as if he couldn't possibly hold it up himself.

"Oh, shove over. You look like warmed over Manticore dung, by the way." Ginny commented. Harry took the space beside Hermione and felt like he had electricity running through him when he did. A no-nonsense, painfully thin waitress approached them.

"Hullo, I'm Priscilla, I'll be your server today," she said, not smiling. "What can I get you started with?"

"Couple of Butterbeers, please," Harry replied. And then, noting the hollow ache of his stomach: "And some sausage and chips for me. Extra chips."

"Are you _quite_ certain you want Butterbeer, Harry?" said Hermione, glancing purposefully at Ron and then back at Harry. Ron's ears turned pink and he stared gloomily at the wall. Hermione's mouth was pursed and Harry didn't know if he wanted to cover it with his hand to shut her up or kiss it.

"Yes, I am certain, Hermione." Harry said, perhaps a bit too severely. Hermione's expression soured more. He looked back at Ginny who was watching them strangely and had a moment of worry that maybe their interaction was suspicious in some way.

"You're Potter, right?" said the waitress, monotone. Harry sighed, just wanting his food.

"Yes, hi."

"Huh. Alright. Thanks for, ya know, the thing. So, Miss, what would you like?"

Ginny broke off from staring at Harry to look at her. "Uh, the same, thanks."

"Great." Priscilla's pen floated in the air and wrote onto her pad for her. "Won't be long. And your food is coming right up," she gestured towards Hermione and Ron and they nodded.

Priscilla left and Harry could feel Hermione glaring at him, but he preoccupied himself with other things. Important things, like fidgeting with his napkin and watching the precipitation build and drip off of Hermione's water glass. The small, tense group talked about trivial things that were forgotten as soon as they were said and Harry wanted nothing more than to be alone with Hermione, to tell her - tell her -

What?

He didn't know. All he knew was he needed just one minute, one second, with Hermione all to himself.

The food came and Harry dug in, hoping a bit of nourishment was all he needed to return to normal. As if he ever had a normal. He took a long sip of the frothy and sweet beverage but it stuck a bit in his throat when he caught Ron eyeing it enviously. Harry wondered if he himself was noble enough to give up drinking for Hermione, then reminded himself he'd never have to know the answer because it was entirely hypothetical. Entirely.

Ron was trying not to stare at Harry's drink and Harry was trying not to stare at Hermione and Harry wondered if this was all life was as adults. The cyclicality of envy and want.

Ron finished his meal first as usual and swept his arm over to snag one of Ginny's chips. In the process, he knocked over her Butterbeer and it splashed on her shirt. Ginny groaned.

"Clumsy berk," she said, although she chuckled at him and his grimace. That was the Ginny Harry knew, probably loved - forgiving, carefully careless, always up for a laugh. Not whatever it was that had to be held back from attack like an animal.

With Ron and Ginny preoccupied with the spill, Harry leaned over to whisper in Hermione's ear.

"I want to talk to you. Now."

Hermione glanced at him testily and brought her water to her lips, ignoring him. Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.

He rested his left hand on her knee, and felt her jump a little at his touch. She still refused to look at him though.

"Did you guys hear about the Turkey and Portugal match yesterday? Canan is brutal, heard she broke Barros' arm in three places." Harry said. His hand on Hermione's knee slowly inched upwards.

"Barros is a wimp," Ginny replied, unimpressed. "A gently tossed feather could break his nose."

"I wouldn't go up against Canan, though," remarked Ron. "Built like a stack of bricks, that girl."

Harry's hand traveled further up Hermione's skirt now, and he smirked at her attempts to regulate her breathing. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this, why he was taking such a risk. Something inside him just propelled him to do so, a reason just scraping the back of his consciousness that couldn't tear through. He stroked the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and the closer he got to her core, the more her legs opened for him whorishly. Harry suppressed a moan at that. She knows what that does to him.

"Do you think Turkey could make it to the finals in the next World Cup?" Harry asked, voice slightly strangled, not really caring about their answer because his fingers just touched the edges of Hermione's cotton knickers and he leaned back for a better angle to touch her.

Ginny and Ron made incredulous noises. "Doubt it," said Ron, finally able to steal one of Ginny's chips. "Not with Krum playing for Bulgaria."

"And with me -" interrupted Ginny, banging her drink down with force, "playing for England after I graduate. Assuming I make the team, of course."

Harry slid his fingers inside Hermione's cunt. She was already wet and it made Harry want to groan aloud, bend her over the table and take her in front of everyone. He tried to control his facial expressions as he stroked up her slit slowly, just teasing, wanting to make her yearn for his touch.

"You'll make it, Gin," Harry said, feeling a tightening in his pants. "I swear you get better every day."

Ginny beamed at him and went back to eating. "I'm so excited to get back once this break ends. You're coming to my next game, right?"

Harry nodded and pinched Hermione's clit, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Hermione's face was flushed and her breathing grew ragged, to his great satisfaction.

"Force Hermione to come too," she said, eyeing Hermione and pointing an accusatory chip at her. "She never comes to matches."

Harry didn't stop his torturous movements under her skirt, and Hermione gripped the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. Clearing her throat, she said, "Sorry. Just been busy."

Ron rolled his eyes. "The only person in the world who likes homework over Quidditch, and I'm marrying her. That's gotta be a paradox or a metaphor, or something."

"Actually, Ron - " Hermione started correcting before Harry slipped two fingers inside her and rubbed, hard, against the rough patch of flesh that makes more wetness gush onto his digits - "it's, ah, ahh, it's irony."

Ron looked at her curiously. "You alright, Hermione?"

Hermione certainly did not look alright. Harry eased off a bit, liking the danger but not to a suicidal degree, and looked at her innocently. His face was full of concern but his eyes were a mix of amusement and lust.

She stared back at him, her gaze dark, and he realized she was too far gone. She bit her lip and he felt her clench around his fingers as she came, arching into his hand. Harry knew he was looking at her too intensely but couldn't help it; he swallowed hard and watched her come down from her pleasure, admired the blush that splashed her cheeks and breasts in rose. He slowly removed his fingers, mourning the loss of her tightness around him. When he wiped his fingers off on her skirt, her breath hitched.

"Actually, I think I need some air," she said shakily, and stood. Harry moved out of the way so she could leave the booth.

"I'll join you," he said, and she barely glanced at him before making her way to the door.

"Oi, I'm not paying for all this!" Ron called after them, and Harry just waved him off.

Cold air filled Harry's lungs and he followed Hermione as she walked steadily across sidewalk. She turned into an alley and Harry felt a thrill shudder through him. He was still hard.

She pulled him into the shadows.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, so that they could see each other in the icy light of her wand. She didn't look happy, but Harry smiled anyways, glad to be alone with her.

"Have you officially gone mad?" she asked him, loud enough to convey anger but not attract any onlookers. "What the hell was that?"

Harry placed his hand on her neck, caressed her jaw with his thumb. "You liked it," he murmured into her ear. It wasn't a question. His teeth just barely scraped against her earlobe and she shivered. "Gods, Hermione. You don't even realize…" He brushed his lips against the corner of her toffee-colored mouth. "When I felt how wet you were for me, I just…I couldn't help myself." He pressed his body against hers and felt her heart beat against his. An erratic, staccato rhythm; hot, fast, loud, alive, _alive. _They both should be dead but they weren't and if he could reach inside her chest and feel its meter he would, just to be sure, just to spite everything and everyone who ever tried to destroy that too big, too brave heart of hers. She ground her hips into his and Harry hissed at the contact of pressure against his dick, sending goosebumps down his spine.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled back, forcing him away from her. Her eyes narrowed.

"Is this what you wanted to 'talk' to me about?"

He paused for a minute, thinking. He wanted to talk to Hermione about a great many things, and couldn't settle on just one. "I want to take you on a date."

She released him, and then gaped at him as if he had sprouted another head. "You're joking. What does that even mean?"

"You know. A date. Dinner, drinks."

"I don't drink."

"Dancing."

"You're terrible at dancing."

"We'll play games."

"I hate games."

"_Hermione_," he brought his hands to her waist and his lips to her neck. "Just...I dunno, humor me for once."

She was hesitant to his words but immediate to his mouth, and she tilted her head back so his tongue could reach the spot between her neck and her ear that always made her moan. "Okay," she said breathlessly, kissing him fully on the lips. "We'll have a date. But this first."

She worked away the buttons on his pants and he raised her arms above her head, against the brick wall. "Yeah," he said huskily, pulling himself free and pushing her knickers out of the way. The crispness of the air, the murkiness of the alley, the possibility that someone, anyone, might stumble across them and catch them doing this just made it better, made Harry feel invincible and dark and degenerate and deliciously fucked up. He pressed into her cunt, still sticky and hot and oh god yes right _there_, and she spasmed and whined when he closed his mouth around her clothed nipple and suckled it. "This first."

* * *

><p>AN: I know I said I was gonna only make this story three chapters but I keep getting new ideas SO it's gonna be longer than that because I have no restraint. I just love these two. And thank you to everyone who's read/reviewed this I literally squeal every time I get new feedback and I appreciate every message, good or bad. xoxo


	4. Jesus Christ, That's a Pretty Face

_Oh, you wouldn't want an angel watching over  
>Surprise, surprise, they wouldn't wanna watch<br>Another un-innocent, elegant fall  
>Into the un-magnificent lives of adults.<em>

"Mistaken for Strangers" - The National

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was in a good mood.<p>

This was, absolutely, a monumentally rare event out of these past several months. Now, he'd of course experience sporadic bouts of happiness, flitting moments of serenity or even short stretches of contentment. But this was another matter entirely. As he pulled on a new pair of jeans that he'd bought just for the day and readjusted the collar of his dark gray button-up, he felt almost _giddy._ Today was his date with Hermione Granger.

They opted for a lunch date. Not markedly sexy in Harry's mind, but it was the only time and day they could slip out for an entire afternoon, just the two of them. The Weasleys were having a family reunion, and the Burrow would be jam-packed with boisterous redheads and treacle tarts and meat pies and raunchy jokes before sundown. Normally, Harry would never want to miss such a joyful, well-fed event. But an entire day with Hermione to himself - how could he pass that up? Hermione told Ron that she absolutely _had _to run errands that day because she was going to be with her parents in Ireland until the start of the next weekday and Harry _had _to come with her because maneuvering Gringotts and Muggle Customs would be an absolute nightmare without his influence speeding the process. (Hermione had actually sorted this all out weeks ago). Ron and Ginny, of course, understood and bore no grudge.

This was also the last weekend before the end of Easter break, so he would be seeing much less of both Hermione and Ginny when they returned to Hogwarts. He tried not to focus on that fact when he Apparated to Hermione and Ron's flat. As he walked up to the brown cobblestone apartments, a bouquet of bright blue carnations mingled with baby's breath in his hands, he waved to their neighbor who was staring at him through the window. The portly man's eyes bugged out of his head before he raised his arm to salute Harry. Feeling awkward, Harry returned it quickly, and then hurried on.

He stepped into the steel grates of the lift, and a disembodied voice squawked over him. "Residence?"

"Granger and Weasley, please."

The lift whooshed into action, barreling upwards so quickly Harry nearly squashed the flowers as he careened into the doors. He arrived promptly to their door, and rapped his knuckles on the scarlet wood.

When Hermione opened the door, Harry felt like a bright light was being shined in his face. A slight blush highlighted the charming contours of her cheekbones, and her curls were coiled, smoother than usual, and framing her angelic face. She wore a deep violet sundress with a low-cut neckline that hugged her waist and floated to just above her knees, showing just a hint of her thighs. Her lips were painted a light cherry color and Harry wondered if he could ever bear to stop looking at them.

"Are those for me?" she asked, smiling, suddenly shy. Harry blinked and grinned back.

"Oh, yeah, um, bit of an impulse buy, really. The florist said that, these particular flowers were symbols of both great beauty and intelligence, so, I thought they'd be fitting for you. He was probably just talking rubbish to get a sale, but - erm, they're still nice, I think." He couldn't believe he was nervous.

Hermione took them and placed them on a table near the door. "They're beautiful, Harry, thank you so much. I'll find somewhere to hide them when I get back."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, crestfallen. "Of course. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Her eyes widened. "Don't apologize! They're great, really. It's just...you know."

Harry nodded. He did know.

"Shall we go?" he said, holding out his arm. She took it and smiled, and they walked into the finicky lift to be whisked away.

He brought her into Diagon Alley first, but didn't tell her where they were going, to Hermione's great annoyance.

"Honestly, Harry," she huffed while he pulled her along quickly, not wanting to linger as to avoid being stopped by throngs of sycophantic strangers, "It's absolutely ridiculous you won't tell me our destination, I had no idea what I was meant to wear! I changed three times out of worry."

He beamed at her. "You're perfect."

She couldn't fight her lips from curling into a smile.

When they reached the doors of the Leaky Cauldron, however, Hermione frowned, forehead creased in puzzlement.

"You're taking me here?"

Harry grinned. "Just a detour."

He walked quickly to the back, ignoring the stares from the pub's occupants, and tapped on a particular brick. At his touch, the wall reformed into a doorway.

Harry winked at her. "Let's go be Muggles for a day."

It had been quite some time since Harry had entered the non-wizarding world, really entered it, and he worried that perhaps it would take him some time to acclimate. But the sight of cars whizzing by on wheels and not magic, men and women in suits chattering into gray cell phones and electricity coursing through the unsightly power lines was so familiar it was as if he never left. While it might not be as picturesque as the world he now called home, it did have one thing that the wizarding world did not.

People who didn't stare.

Harry had almost forgotten what it felt like to be out in public without blatant, suffocating scrutiny. He felt buoyant, reckless, and grasped Hermione's hand in his own. She looked down at their intermingling fingers in disbelief, and then looked up at him, smiling broadly. They walked off, hand in hand, and let the spring sunshine fill them up.

Harry led the way to a cineplex, and Hermione looked up in delight.

"We're going to see a film?" she said, voice bright. "Oh, Harry! It's been quite some time. What are we seeing?"

"Something called _Star Wars_," Harry responded, looking at the blinking lights on the marquee to be sure. Harry had extremely limited knowledge of Muggle forms of entertainment, seeing as the Dursleys were never particularly keen on taking him for a bit of fun out on the town, to put it mildly. "It was the closest one playing at this time."

Hermione pulled a face. "Hmm. Alright, I'll give it a chance, I suppose. Although I think I would have preferred something a bit more academic."

Harry chuckled as they reached the front of the line. "Two tickets to _Star Wars,_ please," he said.

The teenager working the booth's eyes lit up. "Ace!" he exclaimed. "Most people take their dates to see _Notting Hill_ or summin'. Total bollocks. Ewan McGregor's the best, am I right?"

Harry stared blankly at him, not knowing what a You-win Mickgreggor was.

"Yeah, she's our favorite actress," Hermione said confidently. The teenager looked away uncomfortably and rang up the prices.

"...That'll be eleven quid, fifty."

Harry actually quite enjoyed the movie, although some parts he had some difficulties watching. He found himself turning his head whenever the Sith Lord came on screen or, oddly, whenever the camera lingered on Anakin Skywalker for too long. A couple things just hit a bit too close to home, he supposed. He spent a lot of the time staring at Hermione, who seemed rather drawn in by the film, although a tad disapproving at times.

"I mean _honestly," _she tutted every so often when things got a bit too fantastical for her. "They're just making up rules of physical property as they go along. Harry, you see that that's absurd, don't you? Gamp's Law clearly states - "

Harry quieted her with a kiss; slow, languid, and she was much more content for the rest of the film.

They stopped for a late lunch and coffee at an Italian restaurant, with an open and inviting ambiance. There was a single lit candle at every ivory table-clothed booth and twinkling lights were draped across the walls, interlacing with a massive wine rack of vintage reds. The place was only half filled so it was still fairly quiet, and Harry could hear the faint melody of violin music chirping through speakers. They ordered their food off of laminated menus and Harry was greatly amused to see Hermione struggle with eating her spaghetti once it was served.

"Why don't they cut these damn noodles?" she complained. "How is anyone meant to consume these monstrosities?"

"It's traditional," Harry smiled, taking a bite of his ravioli. He really could have watched her slurp spaghetti noodles all day.

But she put her fork and spoon down, her demeanor changing. Harry held his breath, not sure what was coming.

"Harry, what are we doing here?"

Harry decided to play dumb. "Having lunch."

She raised her eyebrow. "Really, Harry. There must be a reason besides wanting to see me embarrass myself with Muggle cuisine."

He took another bite, chewed slowly. "I just wanted to talk to you about things. It feels like I never get to just - just talk to you anymore."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Okay. Let's talk."

Harry tore pieces of his garlic breads to bits. "Well, I've been having these dreams that have been bothering me…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid. She, however, raised to attention.

"Dreams? Was it like before? Like when you tapped into Voldemort's mind?"

"No, no," he said, cheeks starting to burn. "Nothing like that, I...I think they're just guilt dreams."

She shrank back. "Guilt over me?" she said in a small voice.

Harry didn't look at her. "Partly," he muttered. She chewed on her lip.

"Okay. Okay. So you brought me here to end things gently," she inferred, starting to stand. "I completely, completely understand and I'm so sorry if I've done anything to make your life more difficult, it was horrendous of me, I should have known better, I really should have I just - I got a bit carried away and I know that's no excuse, but - "

"Hermione!" he interjected, torn between laughing and crying at how upset she had become. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Honestly...you're the best part of my life right now."

She sat back down, relief evident on her face. "Oh." She picked up her fork again. "Oh."

Harry was surprised at her reaction. While he knew that what they were was more than just casual shagging, he still felt like it was inevitable that it would eventually end. Marriage and babies were just around the corner, to everyone's glee and his own consternation. But seeing the distraught look on her face and feeling the dread in his own body when she was preparing to depart made him draw a sudden conclusion that this couldn't possibly end, at the very least, not any time soon. Whatever this was.

She looked at him shakily. "This was easier when it was just about sex, wasn't it?" Her smile was melancholy.

He swallowed. "Was it ever?"

They both resumed eating and a stretch of silence fell upon their table. Eventually, Harry reached over and took her hand.

"Hermione, how are you? I'm really asking."

She shook her head. "Fine. Terrible. Everything in between."

"...How are you and Ron?"

Her entire face twitched but Harry stayed firm. It was an unspoken rule to never talk about Ginny or Ron when they were together, but all rules had to bend sometimes.

She took a long time to respond. "You mean besides my abhorrent infidelity?" His gaze fell, but he nodded.

"He's...he's mostly wonderful, you know, when he's not drunk. We fight sometimes, and I worry when he's on Auror business, but...I see a whole future when I look at him. House, kids, a real life. I see all of it."

Harry withdrew his hand to fork another rubbery ravioli into his mouth. He didn't even taste it.

Hermione sighed. "And it scares me to death."

She had never said that out loud before. Harry took her hand again, feeling her pulse.

"I understand," he said slowly.

"I'm supposed to want it. All of it. And maybe a part of me does, but…" As if she wasn't conscious of it, her right hand trailed the forearm of her left, tracing the barely legible scarring of the word _Mudblood. _"I feel like I'm going to screw it all up. Fail."

Harry didn't have words. It was bizarre to hear Hermione speaking like this; to hear her doubt herself as a person. After everything they've been through, they should both be fearless. But he wasn't, and she wasn't, and Harry felt both adrift and strangely comforted at the thought. That he wasn't alone.

"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked, half because he didn't know what to say and half because he didn't think he would ever get enough of walking in crowds without being accosted. She nodded and he hailed for a check.

"You won't fail, you know," he told her as they walked through the dimly paved streets of London. "You never fail at anything."

She didn't say anything, so he dropped it. He enjoyed the air, the feel of her arm looped through his, her warmth against his side.

"We're getting far too chummy," Hermione joked, smiling at her feet. "I thought you hated talking about feelings."

He kissed the top of her head and she sighed contentedly.

"Yeah, well, you're rubbing off on me," he replied. They walked on in companionable silence. Harry had almost forgotten how easy it was to be with Hermione like this; it was like breathing.

They passed by St. Paul's Cathedral. Harry glanced at it, admiring the enormous spires and Roman pillars for just a moment, and started to move on. But Hermione came to a complete stop, forcing him to turn back as they were still linked by the arm. She stared at it, transfixed.

"Hermione?" He questioned.

She kept her eyes on the church. "Were the Dursleys religious at all, Harry?"

Harry scoffed. "No, not even remotely, although they were plenty high and mighty. Why?"

Hermione was still regarding the building with such reverence Harry was worried she was having some sort of religious experience. He wouldn't really know how to explain that to Ron.

"You were never interested in religion, either? Not even now?" She asked.

Harry shrugged, starting to feel uncomfortable. "Er, not really. That's Muggle stuff."

She took a couple steps closer, and then suddenly stopped, as if it was protected by a shield to ward her off. "My dad used to be a Catholic," she murmured. "He wasn't really _practicing_, exactly. But we always had a gold figure of Jesus on the cross hanging in our kitchen. I went to mass once, and I was intrigued by the Latin, of course, and the historical aspects of it all. History's a bloody thing, no matter what world you're in."

She took one more step forward. "But as far as _belief_, well, you can imagine how I felt about that as a child."

Harry felt a half-smirk come across his face as he pictured an eight-year-old Hermione, transcribing the discrepancies and inconsistencies of religious texts to her frazzled parents.

"But I - I remember once, I got on my knees and prayed to that little Jesus...ornament." She clucked her tongue on the last word, really trying to emphasize the purported ridiculousness of her youthful naivete. "It was for some silly reason, naturally. I think I prayed for some friends."

Harry was surprised to hear this, but shouldn't have been. It wouldn't be a far stretch of the imagination to believe Hermione was isolated by her peers in her younger years, what with her studiousness and frank nature. But she never talked about her childhood, so he just assumed it had been perfect. With guilt, Harry realized he'd never really asked her about it before.

She scowled. "All rubbish, of course. I was just talking to myself on the ground like a nutter. But it was...a comfort, I suppose."

Finally, she began walking away from the cathedral.

"The day after I got my letter from Hogwarts, Dad took the Jesus down and threw it away."

They continued their walk, stopping once for ice cream from a cart sold by a man in a funny little pin-striped apron and pink trousers. Hermione licked her vanilla cone daintily, drawing Harry's attention to her mouth. He pulled her in for a kiss, and she laughed into his.

"I'm eating here!"

He grinned. "Couldn't resist." He did it again, because there was no one to catch them and that was such a heady feeling it almost felt as if they weren't sinning at all. They were just a normal boy and a normal girl, a painfully average couple, eating ice cream and snogging in the street as beginnings of dusk began to settle over the sky.

Harry pulled back to wipe off some ice cream Hermione got on her nose, and noticed a little girl with bouncing pigtails and bright yellow trainers come bounding up to them.

When she met them, she was grinning from ear to ear and shaking with excitement, as if she was restraining herself from jumping up and down on the spot.

"Could I have your autograph?" She asked, her voice too loud due to nerves.

Harry smiled down at her and held out his hand for her pen. The girl blinked at him and made no movements to hand him her utensil.

"Oh, actually, Mr. Potter, sir, I was - I was talking to Hermione."

Hermione looked taken aback. "Me?"

The girl's smile was back, brighter than before. "Yes, Miss! You're my hero. My absolute hero. I'm a Muggle-born too, just been sorted into Gryffindor this year, too nervous to go up to you at school, but I've read all about you. I have your profile from Witch Weekly framed on my wall!"

"Oh, my, well - " Hermione took the girl's pen and began scrawling her name on her sketchpad. Harry felt a grand tenderness at the moment. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"I'm Clara," the girl said, showing off a missing tooth in her grin. "Clara Donovan, and I'm going to be just like you when I grow up!"

Hermione froze. Her face blanched and she had to swallow dryly a couple of times. Harry got a bit nervous at the sight of her sudden change of state, knowing what must be crossing her mind. The blood on her hands. The shame. Her scars, both seen and unseen. Things you never want to think about inflicted on children. Her hands shook as she finished the autograph, and she was misty-eyed when she kneeled down in front of Clara to be at her eye level.

"You know what I think, Clara?" she said, giving the girl a watery smile. "I think you're going to be much more special than I ever was."

Clara smiled toothily again, and hugged Hermione around her neck. Hermione let out a small gasp and it took her a moment to remember to wrap her arms around the girls shoulders, but she did. Harry saw a single tear fall from Hermione's face onto the girl's jumper.

"_Clara_!" A woman in the distance called after her and waved.

"That's my mum, I better go," Clara said, turning on her heel and running towards her mother. "Bye Hermione! Bye Harry Potter!"

She rejoined her mother and they walked out of sight. Hermione stayed rooted to the spot, breathing shallowly.

"How do you get used to that?" She whispered to Harry, struggling not to cry.

Harry took her hand again. He's felt exactly what she's feeling. How awful it is to have people look to you as if you're a savior when you feel like you're splitting apart at the seams, a charlatan in hero's clothes. Liar. Fraud. False idol.

"You never really," Harry said, trying to meet her gaze that was still cast outward. "But, eventually, you realize that everything you did was so people like her will never have to. She'll be spared because of what you did, and she'll never have to feel what you're feeling. And that's worth it."

She sniffed and fell against his chest, letting him hold her.

"I hope she's nothing like me when she grows up," Hermione choked, barely audible. She wrapped her arms around his waist and they stayed like that, holding each other, until the cold shooed them away.

It was still fairly early in the night when Harry and Hermione left Muggle London, so Harry suggested going back to Grimmauld Place before she returned home. She smirked at the ground but nodded.

"Only if you want to," he added softly. She responded with a kiss so heated it made Harry feel like he wouldn't have the patience to even make it there.

They Apparated to outside of his doorway because Harry still wanted to make this feel like a real date. She wouldn't look him in the eye while she waited for him to kiss her, as if she was a flustered schoolgirl. Harry swooped her up in a kiss on his porch, and melted against her mouth. She clutched at his neck as he tugged on her lip with his teeth, sucked on her tongue with want and fire and need.

"Bed," he said raspily, eyes dark, and Hermione pushed open the door in excitement.

He kept kissing her as they tumbled into his home, wrapped up in her body and smell. He had just slid his hand between her thighs when he heard a loud clanging noise coming from the other room.

"Out, Kreacher!" Harry shouted before capturing Hermione's lips again. She whimpered in his arms and held him tighter.

"S'only me!" Ron's voice rang out.

Harry had never seen Hermione move so quickly in his life. She disentangled herself from him, jumped about four feet away and smoothed her dress of any wrinkles in a blink of an eye.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" Harry asked, shaking, still in shock at how close he had been to having his entire world come crashing around him, and made his way to the stairway of the kitchen where he'd heard him call from. Ron came out with a chicken wing in hand to greet them.

"Hey, sorry, didn't mean to scare you, I just - Wow. Hermione." He looked at his girlfriend with wonder. "You look great!"

She blushed. "It's only a dress."

Ron caught Harry's eye and chuckled in appreciation. "Never seen it before! Blimey, why'd you look so nice just to run some boring old errands?" Ron dropped the chicken on the counter and scooped her into his arms. She laughed when he twirled her into the air and set her down again to give her a peck on the lips. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Harry looked away. "I thought you'd be at the Burrow?" he said, feeling out of place in his own home and hating it.

"Ugh, I couldn't stand it another minute," he said, swinging his arm around Hermione. "Aunt Mildred wouldn't stop pinching my cheeks. I don't even think I have them anymore, just numbed, raw muscle on both sides of my face."

Hermione pinched his cheek. "Nope, still there. Still red."

"Hey!" He said, catching her wrist and smiling. "This is a serious malady. Course, it would've been easier if I could've had a Butterbeer or two...but I didn't! Just water for me, thank you kindly."

Hermione smiled at him appreciatively. Then she turned to Harry, who was trying his very best not to grimace. "Harry? Do you still have that elf-made wine the Ministry gifted you?"

"Yeah…"

Hermione clapped her hands together. "Let's open it!"

Ron's mouth fell open. "You mean it?"

Hermione shrugged but had a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'm feeling rather parched."

Ron laughed. "You heard the lady, Harry."

Hermione gave Harry a small smile that probably meant _sorry_, but she didn't need to apologize for being affectionate with Ron. He would have done the same had he been in her shoes. Harry descended into his kitchen to recover the wine from a wooden pantry.

While he busied himself with procuring some crystal glasses that Sirius had left behind, Hermione and Ron went to the opposite side of the room by the large fireplace. Harry watched Ron conjure up a chessboard, and Hermione made a noise between a laugh and a groan.

"You only want to play chess with me because you know you'll beat me," she complained. Ron chuckled.

"Now listen, no wife of mine is going to be a rubbish chess player."

"I'm not rubbish! You just cheat!"

Ron scoffed. "What? How am I cheating?"

"I haven't figured it out yet, but you must be!"

Harry smiled to himself at their bickering. At least some things didn't change. But when he finished pouring generous amounts of wine into each of their glasses, Harry looked up again to see the mood had indeed changed very quickly. The firelight made Hermione's face glow and, seemingly enraptured by her beauty, Ron dropped their small quarrel to lean forwards and kiss her shyly. Harry's hands started to hurt and he looked down to realize he had been digging his nails into his palms. _You don't get to be jealous of him_, he reminded himself. _You're the bad guy in this, remember? You're the bad guy. _

He cleared his throat as he neared them and they scooted away from each other, embarrassed. Harry sat on the ground with Ron and Hermione above him on both sides, sitting on the marble bench of the fireplace. The three friends drank the entire bottle of the thickly bittersweet wine over the course of the next several hours, and they merely played chess and laughed over nothing but Harry thought that this turned out to be a very fine night indeed.

None of them wanting to be separated, they slept on pillows and couches right beside each other, Harry again in the middle. Ron patted Harry on the shoulder before drifting off to sleep and Harry gave Hermione a kiss before she turned in and that was that. He nodded off feeling complete.

The next morning, he woke up to the smell of bacon. Bleary-eyed, Harry shoved on his glasses and headed downstairs to investigate the source of the heavenly smell.

"...I _can _cook, I just know it. It's an untapped potential." Hermione's voice drifted from the kitchen.

"You're the smartest person I know, but no, Hermione, you really can't." Ron retorted. Harry leaned against the side of the wall so he could see them but they couldn't see him. Ron was flipping bacon with his wand while Hermione sat on top of the long counter, watching him do it. Harry recalled the last time they had shagged there rather smugly.

Hermione snickered, failing at pretending to be offended. "You just don't let me!"

"Yeah, and there's a reason for that." Ron smiled lazily at her, the way someone smiles when they know someone utterly belongs with them, and Hermione reached out and pushed his head forwards playfully.

"Fine," she huffed, smirking and crossing her legs. "But you're severely underestimating me, Ronald Weasley."

He grinned at her again. "Never."

Harry shut his eyes, willing away the envy, the feelings of exclusion, the irritation, the bitterness. They were the impeccable image of domesticity. Why had Hermione confessed to being terrified of this when she clearly slid into it so perfectly? He couldn't help but compare this Hermione, chatty and fiery and at ease to the one that had sat across from him yesterday, moody and unsure, nearly falling apart in his arms.

But maybe this was an act. Maybe she didn't show what she was truly feeling to Ron, only to Harry, because he just knew her in ways Ron didn't. Maybe she simply didn't think Ron could handle her true emotions like he could. This thought cheered Harry considerably, and he finally made his presence known in the kitchen.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, gesturing towards the sizzling meat on the stove. "Just saved your entire kitchen from burning down, thought you'd want to know."

Hermione made a disapproving sound. "I had everything _completely _under control. I simply thought they were supposed to catch fire like that. Makes it crispy."

Harry chuckled and kissed Hermione on the cheek. She eyed him reproachfully but Ron didn't notice anything odd about it, so Harry turned his back to her to get some breakfast.

Mid-bite, Harry heard a loud knock on his door.

* * *

><p>AN: Ooh, who could it be?

How did you guys like the references to religion in this chapter? It was an idea that I just couldn't get out of my head because it was so sadly satisfying: doesn't it make sense that Muggle-borns abandoned their faith when they discovered the wizarding world? How could you not? I actually teared up a bit at the thought of Hermione's dad throwing away that figure of Jesus, and I think it went well in this chapter as Hermione is really struggling with morality and the quality of her own soul. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Flip-Floppers

A/N: Sorry this chapter took longer than previous ones! I was finally able to return to work this week so I've been swamped. Also, just FYI for people tempted, I've recently had to delete a review for complaining that Hermione is a "cheap skank." Criticize my writing if you must, but keep your misogyny the fuck out of my face. I will not tolerate it, and I will immediately delete and block you.

Anyways...this chapter is a little Harry/Hermione light because I'm using it as a bridge to expand our world outside the Ron/Hermione/Harry/Ginny bubble a little. Hope you like!

* * *

><p><em>Is it cruel or kind<em>  
><em>Not to speak my mind<em>  
><em>And to lie to you<em>  
><em>Rather than hurt you <em>

_Well, I'll confess all of my sins  
>After several large gins<br>But still I'll hide from you  
>Hide what's inside from you. <em>

"Music When the Lights Go Out" - The Libertines

* * *

><p>Harry walked cautiously to his door with Ron and Hermione following closely behind, breakfast still cooking on the stove, wands drawn. Harry reckoned they were all being overly cautious, but why take the risk? It had been a long time since Grimmauld Place had been hidden sufficiently by the Fidelius Charm, with the exclusion of Muggles. There were simply too many Secret-Keepers not keeping the secret, especially since Yaxley's discovery of it a lifetime ago. Regardless, unannounced visitors still made Harry edgy.<p>

He opened the door to find a short, squat man with a ridiculous handlebar moustache and a wire monocle, brandishing a scroll. Behind him was a girl with tan colored skin, seaglass green eyes in the shape of almonds, and a wide, slightly upturned nose.

It was Pansy Parkinson.

Ron reacted first. "What the hell is she doing here?"

She sniffed disdainfully. "Oh, goodie. You lot are still friends."

"Mr. Potter!" The man cried genially. "Good morning to you, sir! My name is Augustus Jameson, social worker for the Ministry's Dark Wizard Disciplinary Commission, subdivision 5C, section 32X, subsidiary number forty - "

"What do you want?" Harry interrupted, irritated by Pansy's presence. "And why is she with you?"

The man looked from Harry to Pansy in confusion. "Because Ms. Parkinson here is…" He searched through his scroll with great focus. "Yes, yes! It says right here, Ms. Parkinson is Harry Potter's very close friend and associate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

There was a pause of confused silence that was interrupted by Hermione snorting. Pansy took a step forward towards them, and Harry and Ron moved protectively in front of Hermione, raising their wands at her.

Pansy paused mid-step, eyebrows raised.

"Honestly you two," Hermione murmured hotly, "I'm an adult. I am not frightened of Pansy Parkinson…"

When Harry and Ron still did not lower their wands, Augustus looked categorically flummoxed.

"Oh, my! I assure you, that is most unnecessary!" He exclaimed, gawping at their wands. "Now - now listen, Ms. Parkinson has been temporarily placed in the care of the Ministry while her parents are being detained as suspected Dark Wizards. Unfortunately, we are understaffed and overwhelmed by the number of cohorts in our current housing unit due to the influx of suspected Death Eaters and their allies. _Fortunately_, there _is _a sprawling, public, albeit fenced, area for individuals such as Pansy. She, however, objected and after informing us she was a close friend of yours, Mr. Potter, we thought we could make a special exception and have her serve house arrest at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"She's under arrest? Has she been convicted?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, no, no, if she were convicted of any known crimes she would be in a much worse place than this, Ms. Granger," Augustus assured her, although he stressed the word _known_ to imply he expected at least some guilt. "I suppose it's more like what the Muggles call, 'Witness Protection.' Except it's compulsory. And she'll be here all the time. Because she's not allowed to leave. At all."

"I really don't see that happening," Harry replied, confused and irked as to why Pansy would even try to live at Grimmauld Place with him. Or want to, for that matter.

Augustus' eyes then narrowed at Pansy. "Well, Ms. Parkinson, it seems that you are quite out of options - "

"No!" she cried fearfully, the first time Harry had ever seen her display a genuine human emotion in all the years he'd known her. "Listen, just - just let me talk to my mates for a second. Alone."

Augustus huffed, displeased. "You have five minutes, no more. You are one of ten cases I have today alone, Miss."

The man wobbled away, muttering to himself. Harry felt like his face had frozen into an incredulous expression for so long it would never return to normal.

"Your _mates_?" Ron said, glaring at her. "Since when are we your mates? When you were beaten with an ugly stick as a child, did they also muss about your brains as well?"

Pansy scowled. "You can stop pointing your wands at me, first off."

"Not a chance," Harry retorted.

Pansy crossed her arms across her body. "Look, this isn't exactly my idea of a pleasant excursion either. But the alternative is worse."

Hermione shoved away Ron and Harry so she could get closer in Pansy's face. "Do you expect us to feel sorry for you because the living conditions the Ministry supplied aren't quite up to your standards? Were the linens too itchy? The sink not made out of solid gold?" she spat.

Pansy stared daggers at her. Harry tensed, fully intending on hexing her something irreversible if she tried anything at all with Hermione.

"You have no idea what it's like out there for female purebloods with...murky reputations," Pansy seethed, arms shaking at her sides now. "Surprised, are you? Course you are. Haven't been in any of the mainstream papers. Avengement assaults, they're calling them. Pretty name, isn't it? Yeah, they're not so bad. As long as it stops with merely inflicting pain. And I've seen enough blood between my friends' thighs to know it rarely does."

Hermine gasped and even Harry couldn't maintain eye contact with Pansy.

"And those public encampments that they're pushing on me?" she went on, "Completely unregulated. Unsupervised. Anyone can get in, but no one can get out. Makes for easy pickings, especially since we're not allowed wands. Or can you not believe your precious Mudbloods are capable of such dirty deeds, Granger?"

"Watch it," Harry said darkly, and Ron mirrored his expression.

"There've been - " Hermione stuttered, shifting nervously. "There've been reports about some attacks, but...so far nothing confirmed…"

"Of course not!" Pansy shouted. "They're going to keep it covered up, all in the name of righteous retaliation. And if you make me stay there," she addressed Harry directly now, "it will happen to me."

"I seem to remember," Ron snarled, "you didn't care much about what would happen to Harry when you tried to pitch him off to Voldemort."

"Are you joking? Am I really on trial for that?" Frustrated, she clenched her fists in her own hair. "Look. While you three were off gallivanting on your little camping trip, I was at Hogwarts the entire year. I watched the Carrows torture first-years every day. Crying and shrieking for their mums. Try sleeping some time when all you can hear are eleven-year-olds screaming for mercy." It was probably an act, but Harry could've sworn she had tears in her eyes. "Now, I'm not brave. I'm not noble. I'm not even particularly nice. But I'm not a monster. So if there was a chance that exchanging you could save hundreds of children, myself included, I'd sell you out every time. Every time."

Augustus shuffled forward, interrupting her defense. "I'm afraid your time is up, Ms. Parkinson." He looked to Harry. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"Is it true? About the encampments?" Harry asked him, a bit relieved at his presence as he was dangerously close to feeling something that wasn't outright hatred towards Pansy. "Is there really no one keeping the occupants safe?"

Augustus chuckled nervously. "Eh, it's nothing to lose sleep over, Mr. Potter. These are mostly nasty Dark Wizards we're keeping here, not a good bunch. There's enough security to keep anyone from being killed, at least."

"Oh, and that's enough?" Hermione cried. "As long as there are no murders, everything's just peachy?"

Augustus looked surprised at her outburst. "Ms. Granger, like I said, these are not good wizards - "

"Pansy can stay here," Harry said, firmer than he felt. "Temporarily."

Hermione and Ron gaped at him. Pansy, however, kept her expression restrained.

"Very good! Makes my job easier," Augustus said, conjuring a quill for Harry to sign with. "If you'd just sign here, here and here - legal issues, you understand - you grant your consent to allow Ms. Parkinson to use number twelve, Grimmauld Place as room and board. She will be allowed five yards out of the residence in any direction, but no more." He immediately spoke the enchantments needed to keep Pansy inside the restricted area. "And if, for any reason you would elect to evict Ms. Parkinson from your home, it is well within your right."

Harry signed, feeling a bit sick.

"Excellent, excellent! And here is all the information you need to carry out any potential termination." He eyed Pansy distastefully as he handed Harry the papers. "I have a hunch you may need it."

She proffered her best scowl in his direction but he had already turned on the spot and Disapparated with a quiet _pop_.

There was a rather pregnant pause in conversation. Pansy rolled her eyes and attempted to walk towards the door, but Harry stopped her.

"What?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"You don't come in when Hermione's here," he replied sternly.

Pansy's mouth fell open. "You're joking."

In answer, Harry placed his hand on Hermione's lower back to walk her inside. He tried to ignore the jolt of electricity it shot through him. Ron followed, frowning at Pansy the whole time.

She shouted at him when he closed the door in her face. "Great! Yeah! I'll just have a jaunt 'round the yard. That sounds wonderful! Thank you so much for your kindness, oh, mighty hero!" Mercifully, the thick door muffled her quite a bit.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron said, looking at him as if he had just contracted a very serious illness. It wasn't too far off from the truth. "That's going to be...different."

"It's only until we sort out things at the Ministry," Harry said, sliding his wand back into his pocket. "Once the encampments are safe, I don't care what happens to her."

"Yes, I think that's for the best," Hermione commented. "If it's you who's asking, Harry, surely they'll do something about these attacks. It's deplorable."

Harry glanced at her then looked away, suddenly feeling icy towards her. She had moved closer to Ron and it caused Harry to feel that bite of exclusion again. It also didn't help that she was still wearing Harry's shirt as pyjamas; it made him feel aching, conflicting sensations in his stomach.

"Maybe you should go, Hermione," Harry said, trying not to sound as severe as he felt. He didn't fool her. She gave him a mutinous look and she seemed to be on the verge of retorting, but then resigned.

"Yes. My parents will be expecting me before ten, so I suppose I should get going."

"Do you want me to go with you?" asked Ron, looking hopeful that she would say no. Hermione's fear of heights prevented her from flying anywhere, and Apparating first thing in the morning can be a nasty business.

"No, that's alright, really." She glanced at Harry for a fraction of a second before leaning in to kiss Ron on the cheek.

"Enjoy Parkinson," she said to him doggedly before turning on the spot and Disapparating. Harry stared at the empty space she left in her wake.

"STILL OUT HERE! But please, take your time. Maybe have a cup of tea and a nap. No hurry at all!"

Harry sighed and Ron snickered. "Reckon if she disappears in the middle of the night no one would make any complaints," he said.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Harry grumbled. He and Ron took slightly more time than was strictly necessary getting dressed before opening the door for Pansy. Sticking her nose in the air, she walked in without looking at them. With a quick greeting: "Your bedroom's upstairs. Don't touch anything." Harry and Ron departed for the Ministry.

When they arrived, it took them some time to locate the proper division. The office still wasn't operating very smoothly, and there were so many divisions and subdivisions and sub-subdivisions that if Harry Potter had been anyone besides Harry Potter it would have been simply impossible.

But they finally arrived at the office of Eustace Crane, head of the Disciplinary Commission, and stepped inside.

Eustace was a thin man with beady eyes buried beneath exceedingly bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. His office was a disaster; meager sunlight shone through broken blinds, files were scattered haphazardly and half-filled manila folders littered the floor. He looked up at their entrance, and then immediately sat down in shock.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! W-what are...what are you doing here?"

Harry and Ron remained standing, all business.

"We've recently learned you're leaving the suspected Death Eaters and their allies vulnerable to attack in your encampments." Harry said, feeling insane to be defending Death Eaters but not sure how else to phrase it. "It's unacceptable."

Eustace looked at him as if Harry had just informed him he enjoyed dressing up as a fairy and frolicking in the woods in his spare time. "Mr. Potter, I assure you, if them escaping is what you're worried about, it is simply impossible for them to - "

"Well yeah, that's part of the issue innit?" said Ron, crossing his arms. "They're trapped and totally defenseless."

Again, Eustace gave off the impression that he felt like he was being pranked. "And, you do know that these are Death Eaters, don't you? Death Eaters as in, _Death Eaters_?"

"There are women there," argued Harry, displeased at his implication. "Regardless of what they did, we can't leave them as open targets."

Eustace made a flustered sound. "As much as I may like to guarantee them proper surveillance, we simply don't have the funds to - "

"I'll cover the cost," Harry said flatly.

"We'll go half," Ron added.

"Ron, it's really not a problem - "

"How much?" Ron asked Eustace, ignoring Harry.

He repeated his flustered sound and lifted his hands up. "At least 10,000 Galleons. At least."

"Done," said Harry, reaching over to shake his hand. "We'll have Gringotts transfer the money later this week." And with that, the duo left the man to flounder over the events of the past few minutes.

With the weekend off Auror duty and Hermione gone, Harry and Ron elected to spend the day at The Burrow with the remaining members from the family reunion. Harry felt so drained from the events of the morning he looked forward to the prospect of fading into the background of a noisy household. He did have mixed feelings about seeing Ginny; on the one hand, he felt very grounded when he was with her. Being with her felt like he was where he "should" be, which is a comforting feeling, really. But it only barely made up for the all-encompassing guilt that sometimes constricted his lungs so tightly he thought he might explode.

This guilt was actually, surprisingly, fairly new. Perhaps he was too busy emotionally flatlining to notice it in the early days, or maybe sex with Hermione truly used to be only about sex and his brain managed to rationalize it somehow. But the revitalization of their relationship felt deeper this time, more significant, and he almost never stopped thinking about her. Resulting in the aforementioned crushing, potential brain-splatter-inducing, guilt.

And yet when Ginny wrapped herself in his arms at the sight of him like always, he couldn't deny that he liked her there.

"Hello, Harry!" cried Mrs. Weasley from behind. "Are you boys hungry? Have plenty of leftovers from the fry-up…"

Ron dove in to a second breakfast of eggs, hash and pork until George rapped him on the knuckles with a wooden spoon. "I'd be careful there, Ronald. Gettin' a bit porky yourself round the middle."

Ron gave him a rude gesture behind his mother's back, but unfortunately for him his Aunt Muriel came rounding the corner at the same second to catch it. She swatted the back of his head with her hand and waddled into a seat at the table. "Don't be a prat! And George is right - you'll crush that skinny Muggle-born of yours if you keep going like that."

"Oh, stop!" cried his Aunt Mildred, a stout old woman with a propensity for large, flowered hats. Harry was amused at the fact that Ron's relatives seemed to be continuously materializing out of the woodwork. "Ronald has a perfect body! Plump and healthy!" Harry, Ginny and George all snickered as Mildred pinched Ron's cheeks again to emphasize her point, and Ron pushed the food away in a huff.

"Thank you, Aunt Mildred," he muttered miserably after a reproachful look from his mother, and that got the three of them laughing again. Soberly, Harry noticed again that George is always the last to laugh now.

More redheaded aunts and uncles and cousins and second-cousins began piling in, enticed by the sound of conversation and cooking food. Somewhere in the events, a mug of tea was thrust into Harry's hands as well as a sweet roll and a lemon bar covered in powdered sugar. Ginny gave Harry a smile and a nod towards the small back garden, and he followed her outside so they could be alone.

The frogs croaked pleasantly from the Weasleys pond as Harry and Ginny made their way into the overgrown grasses and vegetation. Harry told her all about what happened with Pansy Parkinson and then at the Ministry, to which Ginny responded with outrage and sympathy. After a pause, she plucked a squeaking gnome from the ground and hurled it across their hedge, sending it flying.

"Nice one," Harry commented, sipping his tea.

She smirked. "Thanks, I'm getting better. I found out it's the wrist that does it. Hey, by the way, did you know you were having an affair with Hermione?"

Harry sputtered with his tea, and it dripped down his chin. Ginny laughed at him and wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

"What are you talking about?" He asked her, mind racing.

She pulled out her wand and summoned a tabloid paper titled The Buzz. She handed it to Harry who's pulse quickened as he saw on the cover a moving photo of Hermione and himself, walking arm in arm in the streets of Muggle London. The headline at the top was bright red, the color of passion and scandal. "HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO CHEATS?" Harry's mouth went dry.

Ginny, however, was completely at ease. She bent down to snatch up another gnome that was trying to scurry down a hole in the ground. "So this woman comes up to me this morning in the street; crying, like, _really _crying. She gives me that paper and goes, 'I'm so sorry, Ms. Weasley. I was really rooting for you two.'" Ginny cackled. "I felt so badly for her and I tried to explain it wasn't real, but she was so upset I had to buy her a cup of tea to calm her nerves. Mad, eh?"

Harry forced a chuckle. "Mad."

"You should read it," she said, chucking the gnome. "It's pretty scintillating, I'll say. Apparently, you two engage in group sex with Muggles and then obliviate them afterwards. Oh, but fair warning, there's also a bit about you and Dumbledore getting it on back at Hogwarts. Plus quite a few Slytherin girls and boys that you kept on the side."

"Wow," said Harry, opening the paper and trying to control his sweat glands. He felt physically ill at the accusation of something going on between him and Dumbledore, even in a gossip magazine, but wanted to keep the mood light. "I had no idea I led such a robust sex life."

"Oh, I knew what I was signing up for with you. Pervert." She kissed the top of his head but his blood ran cold as she unknowingly echoed the nightmare version of herself. "Merlin, it's ridiculous. There are still Death Eaters on the loose, the economy is a disaster from the War, the Ministry is as efficient as a soggy boot and yet this is what people care about."

Harry shrugged in reply and tried to look as if he wasn't poring over the contents of the paper like his life depended on it. He searched for any pictures that were really damning, ones that maybe Ginny didn't catch, but it looked like he and Hermione weren't caught in anything more intimate than a walk. Harry sighed in relief and scolded himself for not being more careful. He had to remember he was never really alone, even if he felt like he was.

"What were you two doing in Muggle London, though?" Ginny asked, sounding casual but Harry knew her curiosity was piqued. "You said you were sorting things out for Hermione's visit with her parents."

Harry shrugged again, hoping it wasn't becoming a tell. "We had a craving for Italian food."

She gave him that strange look that seemed to be crossing her face more and more often these days. "Hm. Okay. Honestly...I was surprised you two were spending any time together at all. I thought you had a row of some sort."

"Really? Why?"

Ginny kicked around another gnome like she was dribbling a soccer ball. "You've been very rude to her lately. I was actually going to have a go at you about it." She looked up at him fiercely. "She's my friend too and I won't tolerate anyone being nasty to her. And that includes you."

Harry felt such a genuine rush of affection towards Ginny for standing up on Hermione's behalf that it took him a second to respond. "Er, yeah well, we did have a bit of a falling out. But we've patched things up."

She let the gnome scurry away and pursed her lips. "Good. I imagine the group sex helped things along."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

They laughed together easily and Harry wondered if he would ever stop surprising himself. In the worst of ways.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Ginny cooed, stepping towards him. "I suppose if I am to keep you from all your lovers I ought to see to you properly."

Harry smiled weakly and made a noise of hesitation as she took his hand to lead him inside, but she quickly threw him A Look that made his brains turn to mush and he followed her to her bedroom without further protestation, familiar heat pooling low in his stomach.

On their way up the stairs, they crossed paths with George, who appeared to be fiddling with a new invention that looked like a music box crossed with a toilet. He quirked his eyebrows at the sight of their conjoined hands and smirked. "Off to work on some holiday coursework, children?"

Ginny smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, George. And perhaps a couple rousing rounds of chess if we're not too tuckered out from all the academia."

George scowled. "Control your woman, there, Harry. She's getting a bit big in her britches, if you ask me."

Ginny sent a Bat-Bogey hex flying at his hand and he yelped as he dropped his newest project.

"Bit excessive," George grumbled, and Ginny smiled again as she pulled a thoroughly embarrassed Harry into her room.

Her room always smelled like flowers, although Harry never sees them put out; and her open window doused her pink walls, cotton bed sheets and burgundy drapes in sunshine. The captain of the Holyhead Harpies gave Harry an accusative glare from the poster above Ginny's bed, but that might have just been his conscience.

Sex with Ginny was always playful, athletic, competitive even. They often laughed while they made love, matching each other move for move; so unlike the gripping possessiveness and raw desperation of sex with Hermione. Ginny straddled his hips and sank down onto him, resting her hands on his chest for support. She felt wonderful around him; tight, dripping wet, dropping down onto him hard. The pleasure was accompanied by a shame so viscerally poignant it was painful.

Sunlight splashed on bits of her body, highlighting her freckles, the paleness of her arms. Harry suddenly flipped positions and she giggled when he laid her on her back. He promptly buried his face in her neck; he did not want to see her face, did not want to see the open love and trust in it. She murmured his name, and he sucked in a harsh, shuddering breath as he came, lights exploding behind his eyes, his guts tightening and then releasing. He felt her body arch beneath his at the same time, and she rolled her hips against his again for good measure as she moaned through her orgasm. Harry stayed hiding in her neck and begged himself not to think of Hermione.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to miss you," Ginny said, poking him with her foot. "It's no fair Hermione gets to leave, I need someone to suffer with me." They were sitting facing each other, her feet on his lap, both half-clothed.<p>

Most students had to remain at Hogwarts overnight during the regular school year. However, McGonagall made a special exception for Hermione to Floo home once she was finished with classes, to be able to sleep in her own bed. There were others who were granted this qualification: Hannah Abbott, Dennis Creevey, and Parvati Patil to name a few. It was an effort made by the school to offer support and compromise towards students who appeared to be psychologically impaired after the events of the War. Hermione informed Ron and Harry of this fact once and never mentioned it again.

Harry frowned. "I'm pretty sure she's suffering too."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that! I know she is, I just...I wish I could come home to you at night."

She kissed him, and it was lovely, but tinged with something bitter and acidic. Now that he wasn't clouded with the distracting need to come, kissing Ginny made Harry hate himself. Maybe Hermione could still kiss her partner without feeling like wanting to stab herself with a thousand knives, but he couldn't. He pulled away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, leaning forwards.

"Ginny...I've just been thinking…" He cursed his timing, knowing he should put this off to when they hadn't literally just had sex, but he felt like if he didn't do this now he never would. "Maybe...maybe we shouldn't see each other after you go back to Hogwarts," he said, each word like pulling a tooth by the root.

She froze. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

He played with the ends of her blanket, just for something to look at besides her face. "It's just, I'm dealing with...things, and I - I don't want to inflict those...things...on you anymore. I just…"

He looked up at her. Harry remembered the last time he had seen Ginny cry, when she was eleven years old in the Chamber. Terrified. Alone. Handling darkness that no one her age should ever have to see, a darkness that forever bound Harry with Ginny since that year. That was the one and only time he'd ever actually seen her cry. Until now.

Even her tears were beautiful. One sparkling icicle dripped down her cheek, catching just above her chin. Harry was close enough to see another at the cusp of her eyelid, dangling, threatening.

"Are you...are you saying you don't want to be with me?" she asked him, voice choked. It broke Harry's heart.

_Say yes; make the sacrifice. Let her go. Let her be with someone who deserves her. _"No, no of course not! I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. I dunno, I think I'm just stressed." _YOU PSYCHOPATH! WHAT IS _WRONG_ WITH YOU?!_

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed an angry, relieved laugh. "I want to punch you so badly for that."

Harry forced a smile. "I probably deserve it."

She pounced on him, that same relieved, furious laugh at her throat. "You're bloody right you deserve it, you stupid twat!"

Harry chuckled as they wrestled on her bed, her throwing him a few licks that were harder than usual, until he pinned her down. She lifted her neck up to kiss him.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too." _OH MY GOD, YOU PRICK! _

They made love again, although Harry berated himself the whole way through for doing so. When they finished, he berated himself more for enjoying it. They didn't laugh at all this time, but at least she didn't cry. Holding her in his arms, her sinewy limbs splayed around his, Harry wondered if Ginny could taste the scum underneath his skin.

The worst part was, in that moment, it felt like he was doing the right thing.

When he left the Burrow that night, looking back at the house full of red, shining faces, he vowed that he would protect this. He wouldn't let anything separate him from this family, his family. Even if the thing he was fighting against was himself.

Harry had nearly forgotten about Pansy when he Apparated home, but was rudely reminded at the sight of her lounging on his couch, being poured a brandy by Kreacher.

"Ah, there he is," she drawled, exchanging a look with Kreacher. "The elf and I were getting concerned."

He couldn't suppress the grimace on his face at the sight of her, and he slumped into his kitchen. While he filled a glass with water, he heard Kreacher and Pansy snickering over something Kreacher had mumbled. When he looked up, they were both staring at him, and only laughed harder when his eyebrows wrankled in suspicion.

"What?" he ordered, any hint of good spirit gone.

"Nothing, Master, nothing at all," rasped Kreacher, though he smirked at Pansy again. "Kreacher is just pleased that Master finally has some proper company in the house."

Pansy seemed to swell at the house-elf's words. Harry glared.

"Well, sorry to you, Kreacher, but it won't be lasting long. Not even till the end of the week, actually."

Pansy's mouth fell open. "What are you talking about? You would send me away to be brutalized? What kind of person are you?"

"You'll be perfectly fine. I've worked it out with the Ministry; they're hiring more wizard security, and you'll be safe there."

Pansy clutched her brandy, her mind seeming to be going a mile a minute. Kreacher walked off making sad, clicking noises with his tongue, leaving them alone.

Harry didn't look at her; he busied himself with taking off his jacket, putting his glassware in the sink, toeing off his shoes.

"If you let me stay, I can help you."

He looked up at her, mildly curious. She seemed very serious, her flat green eyes glinting. "Help? Help how? By drinking all my alcohol? Irritating me into migraines? Not that helpful, as it goes," he replied, unable to stop himself.

She stared at him coolly. "I have quite a bit of information on certain individuals you lot are trying to track down. You...Aurors." she spat the word derisively.

Harry snorted. "We're doing fine, thanks. It's only a matter of time before we get them all - "

"Is it?" she sat up, looking like she did that morning, pleading her case. "Shacklebolt may not be as big an idiot as other Ministers we've had, but this goes deep. People are lying about being Imperiused, others were never found out at all. Death Eater allegiances pervaded the Ministry; these are all people attracted to power, remember. You'd have to know the families well, the connections well, the legends and micro-nepotisms - well, you'd have to be me." She smirked, sure she had convinced him. "Just think of all those bad, bad people you could single-handedly put away. Get a bit of that former glory back, I'm sure you've been gagging for the attention."

Harry frowned but ignored her dig. "Why would you help the same Ministry that has your parents detained for who knows how long?"

She didn't drop her gaze. "And what do you think dear old mummy and daddy are doing there now? Singing like canaries. We adapt, we survive, we foresee the winds of change before they even shift in that direction; that's the Parkinson way."

"You mean you flip-flop, betray your friends and take whatever road is easiest."

She sank back down onto the couch, but looked haughty. "Say what you will, Potter. But after aligning myself with Death Eaters and watching them all fall, I'm now very much alive, staying in the home of the most famous wizard of our generation, drinking his brandy, and not being raped in my sleep. I'd call that a victory."

Harry pinched the skin above his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "It's too late to think about this now. I'm going to bed."

He felt Pansy's eyes on him as he headed for the stairs.

"Sweet dreams, Potter," she said, and then laughed somewhat bitterly.

* * *

><p>AN: What do you think of the surprise guest? I find Pansy really interesting (and it doesn't hurt that the actress her plays her in HBP and beyond is smokin hot) and she'll play a significant part in showing the characters a world outside their own. I think JK's treatment of Pansy was petty considering she used her as a symbol of all her old bullies, and I want to give Pansy a little more depth than that. She's still an asshole, but ya know, an asshole we can understand.

Thank you for reading and for your reviews! Feel free to keep them coming :)


	6. Secrets Beget Lies

A/N: Hey! Big thanks to my reviewers and followers: happy to hear you guys were surprised by Pansy. I dropped a hint about her being part of the plot back in chapter 2, and I'm excited for the directions I can take with her in the story. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Half baked girl<em>  
><em>Hey, I'm hardly surprised<em>  
><em>Snake eyes disguise everybody's lies<em>  
><em>Faded nail marks on pale thighs <em>

_And an awkward secret that someone denies_  
><em>And now you're trying to get yourself back in<em>  
><em>Come on in.<em>

"Family Friend" - The Vaccines

* * *

><p>Harry could not sleep. There was an unbearably tight coil in his chest that made his skin feel clammy and his stomach nauseous. He blamed it on the strange presence in his house, infecting his space, his home. Reminding him of the night Death had claimed him, if only for a moment. Sometimes he worried he really had died that night, and this was hell, which he shared with all his fallen classmates. But Hermione - Ron, Ginny - they would never be in hell, could never be in hell, and this thought always shook him back to reality.<p>

Tired of twisting in his sheets futilely, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and left his bedroom. As he padded down the hall, trying to remember if he still had any chocolate biscuits left, he heard a clattering noise followed by a swear coming from Pansy's room. Her gaslight was still on, and Harry quickly drew his wand before charging inside.

A desk that normally sat in the corner of the room had been pushed diagonally, and she had been on her knees behind it, doing something with her hands. She snapped up, widening herself as best she could to hide what was behind her. She glowered at him.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you you should knock before entering a lady's bedroom?" she snarled.

"Lucky there aren't any ladies in here." Harry circled around, but she blocked his view. "What are you hiding?"

"You wouldn't want to know," she rose to her full height, which was still quite slight, and a malevolent look crossed her features. "You wouldn't believe what kind of Dark Artifacts my family carries in its name. Things that would crawl into your skull, haunt your nightmares and make your blood run cold as - "

Harry rolled his eyes. "_Accio Pansy's Secret." _

The contents from behind her flew into his hand. He struggled a bit to hold on to them all: they were mere pieces of paper.

She lunged at him. "You filthy half-blood! Give those back!"

Harry threw up a quick shield charm and turned his back to her, poring over the papers. They were letters. He ignored her shrieks as he read the one on the top; its writing fluid yet dark, as if the sender pressed very hard into his quill as he wrote.

_Dear Pansy, _

_Things are still difficult. The paranoia is the worst bit, I think. I can't sleep at all, it leaves me feeling too vulnerable. Mother is holding up alright, but Father is barely coping. It's driving me mad. Some days I hate him.__  
><em>

_I miss you terribly. I think of you often; all the time, actually. I want to see you, but Mother says we can't return to the country just yet -_

Harry skipped to the bottom of the page, to see words that appeared to be crossed out but were still legible above the signature.

_With love,_

_Draco_

Draco Malfoy wrote love letters? Harry turned to see Pansy visibly shaking with rage, breathing hard. He placed the letters on the ground, not daring to take the shield down to hand them to her when she still looked like she wanted to tear out his throat.

"You don't have to hide them, I won't read them," he muttered, looking at the floor. He backed away before taking down the shield, still noting the murder in her gaze.

"Bastard!" she called after him when he shut the door.

Wearily, Harry descended the stairs. He was surprised at the letters, as he had been so certain her and Draco's relationship at school had been shallow at best and manipulative at worst. But he supposed even people as terrible as Pansy were capable of developing feelings. The thought struck him as both funny and distasteful.

When he discovered that he had, in fact, a couple of biscuits left in the tin, he heard a popping noise from behind him.

"Harry?" Hermione said, voice wavering. Harry turned to look at her; she was in her pajamas, her hair unkempt and tousled, eyes wide and bloodshot.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He barely had enough time to ask her this before she flung herself into his arms. He held her and felt her entire body tremble while she clung to him so desperately it hurt.

"Hermione? What happened?" he kissed her temple, her forehead, any bit of her that he could touch with his lips while still holding her so tightly.

She buried her face in his chest. Her words were muffled and she appeared be having difficulty drawing breath. "I needed to see you. It felt like...I don't know, I was alone and I just panicked. I needed to make sure you were safe."

And then she was kissing him, her lips pressed hard against his. He felt the softness of her tongue slide across his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to her to return the kiss with equal vigor. For a few moments he let himself enjoy this; the warmth of her tongue, the feeling of her hands gliding across the planes of his chest, heating his body with fire and then leaving him with goosebumps when they left. When she slid her hand down the front of his pants, however, he stopped her.

"Hermione…"

She was still leaning against his body. "What?" she murmured against his mouth, lips just barely brushing his.

He took a step back, the feel of her body making his brain fuzzy and his cock stir.

"Not tonight," he said, still thinking of Ginny, the Burrow, Ron; the promise of things like family and home and forever. But the end of the sentence, _Not tonight...or ever again_ died in his throat when her eyelashes fluttered sadly in that way that made Harry sure that he must be the sun, because nobody could look so astral without its raw brilliance shining down upon them.

Hermione stared into nothing, then nodded. She crossed and uncrossed her arms before speaking guilelessly. "Sorry, then. I can leave, if you want me to."

"You don't have to," Harry said, somewhat desperate for time alone with her. She was the only person alive nowadays who he didn't feel like a wretch around. "Do you want some tea?"

She gave him a small smile with an emotion he couldn't pick up on and nodded.

Harry lit the kettle with his wand and helped her sit down, as she still appeared to be quite shaken up.

"I am sorry about this. It's been a long time since I went to bed alone. I get a bit…" she made a vague hand motion, but Harry understood.

"It's alright. My door's always open, Hermione. You can always come to me." _Me, not Ron,_ he thought before he could stop himself. She smiled at him gratefully.

"So how are your parents?"

Her smile fell. Harry wished he hadn't asked.

"They're...it's tense around them. They're still afraid of me." Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as if warding off the cold.

"I'm sure they're just afraid _for _you - "

"No." And her eyes were sharp on him. "They're terrified of me, of what I can do. What I can do to them. We don't even talk about magic anymore, they can't stand to hear it." Hermione looked down at her hands as if she could see dirt on them. "Sometimes I catch them staring at me. Just staring. It makes my skin feel like it's crawling with bugs."

The kettle screamed and Harry fetched two mugs to pour the boiling water into. He set down Hermione's cup in front of her and she didn't even seem to register that it was there.

"I'm sorry about them," he paused. "Sometimes I think it's almost easier for me not to have parents." Harry knew he sounded self-pitying but went on anyways. "No one's there to be disappointed in me."

That snapped Hermione out of her introspection. She seized his hand. "Don't ever say that, Harry. You were - are - wonderful. You saved us. Your parents would be so proud of you they wouldn't be able to stand it. I'm proud. I'm proud of you."

He couldn't bear to meet her gaze, so they fell to her hands around his. "Yeah...no, you're probably right. Sorry I'm being weird. Nights are still hard."

Her face was pinched. "Yeah. Nights are really hard." There were tears in her eyes again, and Harry distantly wondered if she ever went a day without crying. He wondered if that was his fault.

He led the way to his couch so they could sit by the fire. The warmth of the flames and the tea in their hands burned away their anxiety as they huddled together, closer than they needed to be.

"Did you know I crave cigarettes now?" Hermione told him after a while, curled up against his body. Harry laughed, not being able to imagine such a thing dangling from Hermione's lips.

"What?"

"I've never had one in my life, but...I don't know. I think I just need something to do with my hands."

At that, Harry took her hands and brought them to his lips. She smiled and they slowly, unintentionally, drifted off to a peaceful sleep; Harry holding Hermione's trembling hands until they were still.

The next morning, Harry woke to a girl's bare legs in front of him. Normally, this wouldn't be a bad sight. If it weren't for the person they belonged to.

"Well, this is cozy," Pansy intoned, bringing her cup of coffee to her lips. Harry lurched up, jostling Hermione's head which had been on his lap. He rubbed his eyes while Hermione straightened up, trying to repress the whir of panic in his brain.

"Good morning, Granger. Have a nice night?" An arch of the eyebrows. Another knowing sip.

"M-morning, Pansy," Hermione mumbled.

"Sorry, Potter, is the rule about me not being inside while she's here still in effect for overnight visits? Should I put a tent up outside for the future?" She smiled saccharinely.

Harry stood and brushed by her, his brain struggling to catch up with his mouth. "Don't be ridiculous. Hermione had a fight with her parents and stopped by to talk about it. We just fell asleep on accident, it's not like it'll happen again." It sounded lame even to him, but he hoped it was believable. It was mostly true, after all.

Harry glanced behind him to see Pansy still eyeing Hermione as she walked away from the couch.

"I should probably get back before my parents realize I've gone…" Hermione muttered, looking at the floor.

"Nonsense!" Pansy cried genially, eyes mischievous. "It's still early, and I've already asked Kreacher to set another breakfast for you. Let's gab."

Hermione stood fast. "I don't have much of an appetite around you, Pansy."

Pansy sat down to her meal of hot cereal and toast and pouted. "Granger, I'm hurt. At least tell me how those Muggle folks of yours are doing. Better than mine, I presume."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "That's no one's fault but their own. We've all made our own choices."

Pansy looked pointedly from Harry to Hermione. "So it would seem."

Harry felt sticky with sweat and paranoia. Visibly distressed, Hermione ran her fingers through her curly hair and straightened up. "Goodbye, Harry. Um, I'll see you later tonight at my flat? I'm going to come home early, I think. You, me and Ron can do dinner. If you want."

He looked after her sadly. "Sounds good. Bye, Hermione."

"Bye, Granger! I'll miss you, sweetums!" Pansy called brightly. Hermione scowled as she Disapparated.

Harry glared at Pansy, who began eating cheerfully.

"Isn't it tiring being so horrible all the time?" he spat at her.

"Not in the least. It's one of the many things I'm extremely accomplished at."

He turned his back on her to drink his coffee and stare out at the morning light through his window. He was already looking forward to seeing Hermione again.

"So, Potter, you and Granger - "

He interrupted her quickly not only because he didn't want her finishing her thought, but also because he had actually wanted to ask her something for quite some time. "Why were you at Lavender Brown's birthday party? I mean, it wasn't really a party, but, you know. You went to the Leaky Cauldron with her friends. Why?"

He turned around to see that he had actually taken her by surprise, but then her face resettled into its usual pompous, sullen form. She shrugged. "I've known Lavender since we were children. Pureblood families stick together, like I told you. So we kind of grew up together, in a way. She was always irritating and simple, but…" She shrugged again, taking another bite of her oatmeal. "Whatever. I don't pass up on opportunities to get drunk."

She returned her attentions to her food, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down for his. She seemed to have dropped the subject. But halfway through their silent breakfast, she spoke again.

"You and Granger seem awfully - "

"You know if you want, you could use my owl to send letters to Malfoy again. I won't mind." He talked over her, glad he had this ace in the hole. Her expression darkened.

"That's not necessary."

"Really, I don't care, it's not a big deal - "

"You imbecile. It's no longer _necessary._" She threw her napkin on the table and stomped away, clashing her chair into the table in anger. Harry was a bit annoyed since he thought he had been doing something nice, but either way, at least she wasn't asking about Hermione. As he chewed, he wondered what had happened between Malfoy and Pansy to create their rift.

"Master."

Harry yelped and jumped in his skin to see that Kreacher had snuck up behind him again.

"Kreacher! Yes, what is it now?" he asked, his heart still racing.

Kreacher sneered. "Oh, Kreacher just thought that Master Potter might want to read today's _Daily Prophet _with his breakfast."

He handed Harry the paper. He was on the cover again, something that he should be used to by now but wasn't. The headline made his insides feel cold. **"HARRY POTTER'S SUPPOSED SYMPATHY FOR DEATH EATERS."**

The icy sensation only worsened as he read on.

"_In an odd turn of events, sources indicate that Harry Potter has volunteered over 10,000 Galleons in protection of Death Eaters stored in Ministry encampments. Eustace Crane, head of the Ministry's Dark Wizard Disciplinary Commission offers his story to the _Prophet.

'_It was very strange, indeed.' Eustace says while filing the proper paperwork for donations of this size. 'Harry Potter and his friend Ronald Weasley came in unexpectedly, appearing to be very agitated. They ordered for more security, worried that the Death Eaters might be susceptible to attack. While I assured them there was no need for worry, they were still steadfastly insistent on donating the extremely sizable sum. Very suspicious if you ask me, but considering who was asking...I eventually obliged.' _

_While this is all the information we have at the present, this does raise some concerns. Is there someone Potter is trying to protect? Or, more likely, someone who he believes is attempting to escape? There are quite a few conspiracies swirling around, and the Wizarding community is largely on edge in believing that either Potter or the Ministry is hiding something. It's also interesting to note that Weasley, who is a pureblood, accompanied Potter on their controversial excursion while their well-known friend Hermione Granger (Muggle-born) did not. Perhaps she did not approve? _

_Now, for all he's done for the Wizarding world, we are willing to give Harry Potter the benefit of the doubt. But for how long?"_

Harry groaned.

"Is Master displeased? Kreacher was very happy to read the article. Master did an excellent job in protecting the pureblood race."

It took all of Harry's will to not push Kreacher to the ground. His hands tightened around the paper in his effort to retain his violence. "Get away, Kreacher."

Kreacher shuffled away to his cupboard, giggling wheezily. Harry threw away the paper and wearily started clearing his own dishes plus Pansy's. It was then that his fireplace crackled, and he turned, wondering why Hermione was coming back so soon.

Instead, Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the green flames. His presence, large, assuming, clad in brightly colored robes, seemed to fill half the room.

"Is now a good time to speak with you, Harry?" he asked, voice slow and controlled. Exasperated, Harry wondered why Ministry officials had a knack for coming to see him while he was still in his bloody jim jams.

"Uh, sure. I could get dressed - "

"No, that's alright, I'll only be here a moment."

His eyes fell onto the _Prophet _in Harry's trash. "I take it you saw the article, then."

Harry grimaced and nodded. Kingsley promptly retrieved it from the garbage and straightened its creases.

"Most unfortunate, is it not?" he said as if commenting on something entirely unrelated to the both of them. "The public is...quick to panic these days."

"Yeah, well, it had to be done. It didn't exactly seem like the Ministry cared that there were problems with the way they were handling the prisoners," Harry said coldly, feeling like a child trying to avoid reprimanding before Kingsley.

Kingsley put down the paper. "Listen, Harry. I am not here to prosecute you. The Ministry will accept any benevolence it can at this time. While I would prefer if it went to a different cause...it is moot. I am only here to advise against you speaking to the press about this."

"Why?"

"Because it is far better for these things to be left alone, for the public to forget about. We will take care of your concerns. There is no need to arouse suspicion or contempt towards you or the Ministry," Kingsley said, the deep baritone of his voice both authoritative and assuring.

Despite the Minister's words, Harry was beginning to feel a bit suspicious himself. But considering he had no intentions of speaking publicly of this anyways…

"Fine. I mean, yeah, I won't speak to any press."

Kingsley nodded professionally. "Most excellent. I wish to meet with you again at the Ministry this week, Harry. I've...I've learned you received a new roommate. Am I right in assuming that she will provide some worthy information for us?"

Harry screwed up his face. "Uh...maybe…but Pansy's a little..."

But Kingsley was already departing, and Harry noticed that before Kingsley turned completely into the flames, his face looked anguished, almost haunted. He didn't know what to make of it.

The rest of the morning passed without much incident, besides a small pool of reporters gathering around his house like vultures. Harry ignored them by catching up on the tedious licensing paperwork he had let pile up. Pansy just hid in her room until Harry knocked on her door in the afternoon.

"Parkinson - "

"_Piss off!_"

"Just going to the store, do you need anything?"

"...Whiskey."

"Okay."

Considering this was the last day of Easter break, Harry met up with Ginny to do some shopping. She was a bit withdrawn from him today, no doubt due to his actions at the Burrow, but Harry tried his best to keep things genial. He was proud that he had resisted Hermione the night before. Surely, he could continue to do so and become the kind of man that Ginny deserved.

And yet, as the short time spent together wore on, Harry again disappointed himself.

"What are you doing tonight? Figured we could go out for one last night of my freedom before I start revising for N.E.W.T.s," Ginny said, walking through the streets carrying a couple of his grocery bags.

"Oh, um…" Harry didn't want to be forced away from his plans with Hermione and Ron. "Ron and I are having dinner."

"Great! I'll come too."

Harry winced and was silent for a few seconds. He was also reluctant to spend time with Hermione and Ginny together; his discomfort would surely be palpable. "Sorry, Ginny, but...Hermione might come back early, and I don't think she's up for seeing anyone besides us. You know she's been a bit...fragile lately."

Ginny stopped in her tracks. Harry turned back to her hesitantly and watched as her eyes narrowed to angry slits. "And what's that supposed to mean? The sight of me is going to _break _her? Because I'm such an insensitive cad?"

Harry wished he had tried for a different excuse. "No, no, I'm not saying that! It's just, besides Ron, Hermione is really most comfortable around me, so…"

"Oho!" Ginny laughed humorlessly. "I see. And I suppose that's your duty to fix her right up, then, is it? Always so selfless, you are. Well, what about me?"

He stared confusedly at her and tried to take her hand to move her away from the open area; people were beginning to take notice of the famous couple's contention. She snapped her arm away from his.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean, what about you?" He spoke to her in hushed tones, maneuvering his body to the side of her so at least people across the street couldn't see her fuming.

Ginny pushed him with great force and he staggered backwards, the bags in his hands nearly spilling into the road.

"I'm fucking fragile, too!" she cried. Her hands were clenched into fists by her sides, her eyes wild. "Just because I'm not blubbering about it all the time doesn't mean I'm okay! Hermione didn't even lose anyone in the war! My family is in pieces, it's all I can do to hold myself together and pretend everything is like how it used to be and you don't - you don't even see it! All because I'm not drowning in self-pity like she is."

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt genuinely angry with Ginny. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't checked in with your feelings lately," he said through his teeth, straining to keep his voice down. "But Hermione is not just feeling sorry for herself! She's struggling with something real, and for that matter, so am I!"

A vein in Ginny's forehead throbbed. "What? What is it you're _struggling _with? What is it that's so difficult that you can't talk to me, can't talk to anyone, makes you talk bollocks like you did yesterday - "

"I DON'T KNOW!" he shouted. Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at him, whispered behind their hands. He was beyond caring. Ginny glared at him and dropped his groceries to the ground.

"Right," she said, prickly. "Well when you figure it out, feel free to write to me at Hogwarts. Until then, don't bother." She turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Still shaking, Harry picked up his bags. He tried to ignore the curious eyes boring into his back as he closed his eyes and Disapparated as well.

He figured he was in shock when he arrived home. He felt numb; emotionally, physically. He imagined he could get hit in the skull by a Bludger and wouldn't even feel it. Methodically, Harry removed each item from its bag: a bundle of carrots, a bottle of pumpkin juice, raw lamb, treacle tart, eggs, a jug of whiskey...he listed them all in a bizarrely focused fashion and placed them on his counter.

The whiskey was snatched up. He looked around to see Pansy observing it critically.

"Ugh, you got the cheap stuff. I'm far too delicate for this." She twisted the lid and drank a sizable gulp regardless. Her face screwed up in displeasure. "Just as I suspected. You have terrible taste, Potter."

"Sorry," he muttered, not actually listening. He replayed the scene with Ginny again and again. A thought struck him that they hadn't _actually _broken up. She had still told him he could write to her at Hogwarts, after all…

"'Sorry'? That's it?" she sized him up while taking another sip. "What's up with you?"

Harry didn't exactly feel like delving into the intricacies of his romantic relationships with Pansy Parkinson. "Nothing. You just annoy me." He summoned Kreacher to clear away his groceries while he headed for his bathroom.

Pansy snickered and followed him on his way to the stairs. "That's no way to treat a guest."

"You're not a guest." He spun on her, glad to have someone he could take out his frustrations on. "You're supposed to be an informant. Useful. Not hoarding stupid love letters and getting drunk at four in the afternoon. You're acting like a child."

Her grip on the bottle tightened. Harry had a feeling she was tempted to throw it at him but she didn't want to waste the alcohol. "Seems to me like I'm not the only one in this house not engaging in strictly professional behavior. Tell me Potter, is Granger as boring in the sack as she is in her normal life?"

"I am NOT shagging Hermione!" he yelled in her face, so forceful even he could believe he was telling the truth. "And if you ever suggest that again I'll throw you out. As well as retract my donation to the Ministry."

Her mouth opened and closed a couple times like a fish. Harry knew he was bluffing, but she didn't have to know that.

"Fine," she spat, taking a step away from him. "I'm _sorry_."

Now Harry was shocked. He had never in his life expected an apology from Pansy, even if it was an insincere one.

"Alright," he said stiffly.

She knocked against his shoulder as she ran up to her bedroom. Before she disappeared into it, however, she turned back.

"His letters aren't stupid, you know." she said, something like sadness in her voice. "They're not." And she slammed her door shut.

Harry shut his eyes, focused on his breathing. Counted to 10. Then 20. Then 60. When he felt like he had returned to himself he washed his face in the bathroom sink, pulled on a fresh shirt, and stepped into his fireplace wondering when exactly he had become so adept at making women hate him.

Seeing Ron was, quite frankly, a relief. Harry was tired of thinking and feeling. He wanted to laugh at crude jokes and eat food that would clog his arteries and drink things that would make him stupid. Ron was more than happy to oblige him.

"...so then McLaggen starts snogging the bird, and the second he does, I swear to Merlin, the beauty charm she was using wears off and she turns into this fat old hag. I'm talking boils, and hair where hair should _never_ be. He goes in to grab her tit, and then he's just like - "

Ron pantomimed Cormac groping blindly and then freezing in disgust.

"He pulls back, gets a good look at her, and yaks all over himself!"

Harry laughed hard, the gin in his hand sloshing around.

"Oh, God. Those charms ought to be illegal," Harry said, still grinning. He reckoned that no matter how much time passed, he'd never grow to like Cormac.

"Not if it gets me stories like that!" Ron cried jovially. "And it's not like we have to worry about it. We don't have to scope the pubs for strange. Makes monogamy seem pretty good, actually."

Harry's grin quavered. "Yeah."

"So did Kingsley visit you today?" Ron asked, refilling his glass.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Came by here, too."

Harry made a knowing grunt. "Told you to keep quiet too, did he?"

"Keep quiet?" Ron's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "No, what do you mean?"

"Wait - what did he want to talk to you about?"

Ron sat back, stretching out his long legs. "He was telling me about the regrouping of Voldemort's supporters." His tone seemed almost bored.

Harry sat too, surprised. Why hadn't Kingsley told him this?

"What else did he say?" Harry asked. "Do we have any leads?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno, said we'd discuss it more later on. Really don't see what the fuss is about - just some bitter wannabes complaining that they lost. I'm not worried."

"But Ron, you don't even know - "

A sudden _pop _behind him interrupted his sentence. Quicker than anything (and like he'd done so many times), Ron cleared away the evidence of alcohol with a flick of his wand.

Hermione entered their dining room to join them, looking slightly more at peace than she did last night but not by much, with her bags levitating behind her. And damn her, did she still look beautiful.

"Welcome home!" Ron said, beaming at her. Harry offered a small smile as well.

"Hi," she said quietly, crossing over to Ron to kiss him. "I missed you."

Harry missed his drink.

"Brought you guys something," she said, looking more cheerful. She drew her wand and summoned a small bag that landed with a plop on the table. Once opened, it revealed a wide selection of Muggle candy. Cadbury chocolate eggs and buttons, gummy bears, Kit-Kats, chocolate oranges, licorice wheels, Snickers bars and more came tumbling out.

Ron poked a package of gummy bears as if it would bite him. "Interesting."

But Harry laughed and grabbed the pack of chocolate buttons, a memory jogging in his brain.

"Dudley used to love these," he said, popping open the box. "Whenever my Aunt and Uncle wouldn't give me enough food, I'd nick these from him. They thought we had a rat problem for years."

He chuckled again but was met with a wall of cheerless silence. Ron and Hermione looked uncomfortable. Well, Ron looked uncomfortable; Hermione looked like she was suppressing rage. Harry had forgotten that this was now a normal reaction to when he spoke of the Dursleys. A biographical article had been released a couple months after the Final Battle detailing how horrid it had really been living with them, and now everyone he knew would avert their gaze and stumble over themselves at any mention of his childhood. Harry preferred when it was a secret, but he wasn't really afforded many of those these days. Just one.

"I'll always hate them for making you live like that," Hermione declared. Harry shrugged, surprised. He couldn't remember ever hearing Hermione say she hated someone before.

"...Chocolate and fruit? What plonker thought that up?" said Ron, breaking the tension. A slip of his hand made the chocolate orange roll out of his grip, however, and when he got up to retrieve it from the floor he swayed and stumbled into the leg of the table.

Hermione immediately jumped to her feet. "How much have you had to drink tonight?" she screeched. Ron spun around, suddenly defensive.

"Nothing! Bloody hell, not even allowed to trip in this house without being interrogated."

Hermione turned to glare at Harry now. Her eyebrows shot up, and he felt himself shrink under her stare.

"Harry?" she demanded.

Harry made a noncommittal noise and Hermione just closed her eyes and sighed, furious. Nobody moved for a tense moment.

"Anyways…" said Ron, rolling his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have to use the restroom."

Hermione stared intently at him as he left; Harry directed his gaze to the table, to the chocolate buttons that he no longer had to steal to eat. He looked at Hermione and wished she was like that chocolate; that he could have her without stealing her.

Okay, maybe he was drunk.

"I could just kill him sometimes," she said, exasperated. Harry tugged on her hand to get her to sit down again. She resisted at first, but eventually complied with another heavy sigh.

"Honestly, Hermione, it's not a big deal. After everything that's happened, pretty much everyone drinks...you should see a night out with Hagrid. Ron could be doing worse things."

At his words, both of their eyes went to their joint hands, and both of them released their grip. She stared at the table and looked like she was searching for patterns in the wood.

"You just don't understand, Harry. I can't bear to see him turn into a drunk."

Harry felt the need to defend his friend. "We all drank together before and you didn't have a problem with it then, that night after you and I went on our da - "

"Well, it's because I felt guilty wasn't it?" Hermione interrupted, looking fearfully for Ron. "I'm not proud of it."

There was another tense silence. Harry was so sick of them.

"Ginny and I had a fight today," he said slowly. "A bad one. I don't think it's _over_, over...but I don't know how to fix it." Hermione looked up at him with concern.

"Oh, Harry. What was it about?"

"You."

A sharp intake of breath. "You didn't. Please tell me you didn't."

He pressed his thumb into the wood, felt it give. Let her sweat for a second just because he was in that kind of mood.

"No, I didn't. But she's angry because...I'm not totally sure. Something about me being more sensitive to your emotions than to hers, I think."

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed a few times, the violent relief on her face somehow making her look older.

"That's simple, Harry. She just needs to feel like a priority. You need to reassure her that she comes first, before other women. That'll solve it." Hermione sounded almost like her old self; giving Harry prudent advice on his girl troubles.

He swept a curl that had fallen in front of Hermione's face behind her ear. His hand lingered there, and she caught his gaze, her soft brown eyes making him melt. What _was _this thing that she was doing to him whenever she looked at him lately - this feeling of being out of his own body and simultaneously more tangible, more real than ever before?

"I don't think she does," Harry murmured. "That's the problem."

He couldn't read Hermione's expression, so his eyes fell to her lips. He leaned in and kissed her. It was the lightest of caresses; his lips just barely touched her impossibly soft ones before she pulled away and looked down.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "Please don't hate me."

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because I'm ruining your life."

Harry brought his arms to rest on the table and laid his head on top of them. "I could never hate you. Even if I could, I wouldn't."

Hermione rested her own head on her palm and used the other to rub his back in slow, rhythmic circles. It felt lovely, warm; like he was somewhere safe.

"Besides," he mumbled against his arm. "I'm ruining your life, too." She stopped her movements for just a second, and then resumed them. Harry never wanted to move, her gentle touch made him feel like he was floating.

It was a strange realization. Harry had always thought that love would save the world; it was hope and joy and salvation. Light. No one ever told him love could destroy, devastate and leave you bleeding in its ruins.

But he quickly dropped this line of thinking because he didn't want to call this love. It would only make everything worse. He focused instead on the pleasurable sensation of Hermione's hand lightly massaging his muscles.

"Don't you think Ron's been gone a long time?" Hermione asked worriedly after a while, getting to her feet. Harry sat up and told her to wait while he checked instead.

When he reached the bathroom and pushed open the door, he groaned.

Ron was on the floor beside the toilet, an empty bottle of Firewhisky by his fingertips. Vomit clogged the bowl and there was some splattered on the ground and on the wall where he had missed. His entire body was convulsing with the shakes and his every breath sounded like he was in pain.

"'Arry...cold…" he muttered pitifully. Not knowing what to do, Harry drew his wand and uttered a warming spell. The shaking stopped, but Ron retched into the toilet.

"Ron...what do I…? How can I help?"

To Harry's horror, Ron started crying. He laid down on his side and sobbed into the floor.

"I c-can't do this," he mumbled through his weeping. Before he could expound on what it was that he couldn't do, Ron heaved dryly, making horrible gagging sounds.

Harry heard a wail behind him.

"Ron!" Hermione cried. "Oh, you idiot!"

Hermione rushed to their bathroom cabinet and pulled out a draught of something Harry had seen before but couldn't remember the name of. Large tears dripped down her face as she squatted next to her fiance.

"H-hold his head back," she said. Harry obeyed numbly, keeping Ron's head still on the floor. Hermione tipped the vial into his mouth and he choked a bit, so she covered his mouth with her hand, a practiced motion. After he swallowed his eyes cleared, his body relaxed, and he gazed up at her.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" she sobbed.

Ron reached up, held his palm against her cheek. "Sorry. Love you," he said, and promptly passed out. Hermione sniffed and wiped angrily at the tears on her face.

"Hermione, I...I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was this bad, I didn't know it was like this." said Harry, ashamed that he had put himself before Ron's health. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last.

Hermione didn't reply, just stood up and straightened her sweater. When Harry moved to haul Ron up to carry him to bed, she stopped him.

"No. I do this."

Hermione used a hover charm to lift Ron into a standing position mere inches off the ground. Taking his arm, she walked him to their bedroom. Harry watched them go, disturbed and wishing he knew how to handle everything that was happening to them now, everything they were doing to themselves and to each other. He knew how to solve puzzles, how to read people, how to fight and fuck and kill and die. But all of this?

He had no answers.

He walked to the doorway to their bedroom as if he wasn't in command of his feet and watched as Hermione tenderly wiped Ron's face with a towel. Again, as if pulled by an outside force, Harry turned and headed for their front door, words like _you coward _and _bastard_ floating in his head.

When he got home, Pansy was waiting for him.

"Potter." she said as a greeting, looking slouched and tired, the bottle of whiskey still glued to her palm. "Fancy a drink? The elf couldn't keep up with me."

Kreacher was snoring loudly on the ground outside his cupboard, drooling onto the tile. If Harry had been in a better mood, he'd have laughed.

Instead, he thought of Ron's shivering body on the bathroom floor, surrounded by his own sick. "No," he said somberly. "You can help yourself to the rest of the booze, if you want. I don't drink anymore."

Her lip curled. "Well, aren't you perfect."

He sighed. "Please, just...don't. Not tonight. I can't tolerate you tonight."

Drained, Harry tried ascending the staircase, but Pansy grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Listen, I have names," she cried, sounding frantic and afraid. Her eyes were huge and the grip on his arm was vice-like. "Lots of them. I won't give you them all at once, I need leverage, but I swear you'll never be able to find them without my help, never. So if you send me away - "

Harry shook himself free of her. "Look - just, relax. No one's sending you away. Just let me go to sleep, alright?" He didn't at all like how she was looking at him; he now felt terrible for threatening her earlier. Seeing Pansy so frightened of angering him only worsened his guilt, and he couldn't help but resent her for it. "I'm just tired. That's all. I'm not going to kick you out."

Pansy eyed him distrustfully, but left him alone. "Don't fuck me over," she said fiercely.

Harry didn't reply. He wanted to promise that he wouldn't, but he didn't know who was safe from him anymore.

As he trudged to his bedroom, he forced his mind to sharpen, to think of a singular subject that wasn't about love or sex or betrayal; save himself of being buried beneath it all by compartmentalizing.

He fell into a fitful sleep thinking of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the distressed look on his face that he hadn't wanted Harry to see.


	7. Itches to Scratch

Annnd we're back! Took a while I know, but with work, school, and a flare-up of my chronic illness, I wasn't really feeling the "muse" so to speak. Hopefully this chapter will make it up to you guys!

** Random Reader**, I've been considering commenting on this myself, so I'm glad you brought it up. I know Kreacher came around to the good side in canon, but honestly? I didn't like it. It's like, okay so Harry gave Kreacher a locket and treated him with basic human decency and Kreacher could suddenly overcome years and years of prejudice? So much so that he rallied other house-elves to fight Voldemort for him? I didn't buy it. It felt like J.K. trying to tie things in a neat bow that didn't necessarily fit. So I'm ignoring it, and a mean Kreacher is more fun to write anyways.

* * *

><p>"<em>SEX AS A COPING MECHANISM<em>

_SEX AS A PERFORMANCE_

_SEX AS SELF HARM_

_SEX AS DELUSION_

_MY FEAR OF SEX CAN BE ASSIGNED TO_

_MY VOLUNTARY PARTICIPATION IN THE_

_DELUSION OF MY OWN PLEASURE_

_FORGING SOMETHING THAT DOESN'T COME NATURALLY_

_EMBODYING A PERFORMANCE_

_PERFORMING AN EXPERIENCE_

_BECOMING A FORM OF SELF HARM"_

-Cheyenne Sophia

* * *

><p>Harry stared into the black pool of his coffee, waiting for the zing of caffeine to expunge the weariness from his head. He was trying to decide what terrible thing he should discover first on this fine, drizzly, depressing morning.<p>

He could sit Pansy down, painfully and laboriously extract all the information he could from her before she snottily returned to her room, muttering bollocks about 'leverage.' Not a great way to start the day, in his opinion.

Or he could go directly to Kingsley, now, right now, demand answers to questions he did not yet have. What could he ask him, really?

"Kingsley, come on, man. I can tell something's off. A thing. Some thing. Tell me about the thing?"

"Kingsley, I _demand _that you tell me all of your secrets. Yeah, just...all of them? If you've got the time? I'm not sure which, exactly."

"Kingsley, I'm shagging my best friend who's engaged to my other best friend while I neglect my girlfriend who maybe isn't my girlfriend anymore and it's throwing me into a depressive state of self-loathing but I can't seem to stop myself, most likely due to a deepening need to self-sabotage that probably stems from one of the many mucked up aspects of my life. It might also be fueling my paranoia that you are manipulating me as a pawn of some larger plot that will soon unveil itself in the most horrible way possible. So...thoughts?"

He was still scowling when he heard the sound of someone Apparating at his doorway.

Harry was about to call out Hermione's name in question, but fortunately for him, Ron stepped into his kitchen before the incriminating word left his throat.

"Ugh," groaned Ron, rubbing his eyes. "Why does being an Auror mean getting up so early? I'm knackered. Got any coffee?"

Harry didn't meet his eyes, uncomfortable from the memory of watching Ron cry the night before. "Yeah, here, let me - "

Ron yawned and waved him off. "I got it, I got it."

Harry focused on his own mug as he listened to Ron prepare his. There was an awkward tension in the air. He realized he should probably have some sort of emotional heart to heart with his friend, and cringed at the prospect.

"Uh, Ron, so...how are you - "

"Look, Harry," Ron sat across from him. "I'm sorry about last night. Total accident. Won't happen again." He took a grateful sip of his coffee. "I didn't do anything too bad, did I?"

Harry tried to keep his face ambiguous. "Nah, not too bad."

Ron sighed. "Hermione's well put out. I mean, I know she's in the right, but…" he rubbed his eyes again. "I don't know. It's just hard to hear sometimes. It's so constant."

Harry didn't reply to that. He had no interest in talking to Ron about Hermione or her nagging.

"So, are you just here for free coffee, or…?"

"Coffee's a bit of a generous word for this piss, but no. Kingsley sent me. Said I ought to come get you and head off to his office straight away. Wouldn't tell me why, though," Ron answered.

Harry crossed his arms. "Yeah, he's been doing a lot of that lately."

Ron gestured to the windows. "Reckon it's got something to do with those reporters out your door?"

Harry's mouth pursed to the side as he watched the small group of stragglers milling about, quills in hand, desperate for the report that may make their career. Their devotion to their obnoxious occupation was certainly annoying, but they didn't seem particularly menacing.

"I don't know. I think...I think there might be something - "

Before Harry could fully voice his concerns, Pansy entered the room. Ron visibly stiffened at the sight of her, and Harry turned to see her smirking at his reaction, dressed in only knickers and one of Harry's shirts.

"Ooh, lookey here, it's the Weasel. Merlin, every day is a Hogwarts reunion with you people, isn't it?"

"Have you been nicking my things?" asked Harry, angry at the idea of Pansy rifling through his clothes.

'Oh, I didn't think you'd mind," she said airily, looking slightly irritated that she had to pour herself coffee without magic.

A sudden look of horror crossed Ron's features. "Did...did you and her…?"

Harry felt mildly appalled at the accusation. "No, God, no." He heard Pansy make a retching noise behind him.

"I'd sooner ram a hot poker up myself than go anywhere near that thing." She pointed to Harry's crotch. "Who knows where it's been."

Harry's jaw set, worried she would take this conversation somewhere he didn't want it going. "Lovely imagery there, Parkinson."

"Forgot how charming she was," Ron said dryly, although he looked relieved.

"Yeah, every day's more fun than the last."

Pansy flipped her hair and sneered. "Oh, please boys, not all at once." She descended upon the table and scraped her chair back across the floor loudly and slowly, watching Ron wince at the grating noise. _Skrrrrrrrrreeeech. _

She sat down as if she belonged there, with unearned confidence. "Trust me Potter, it's not like I _wanted_ to take your cheap, distasteful rags that you call clothing. But funnily enough, before the Ministry whisks you and your family away as assumed Dark Wizards, you don't get to pack up all your jim-jams."

Harry scoffed. "My condolences. Come on, let's just go," he said to Ron, not at all enthused about having a group chat, and Ron heaved himself to his feet with some difficulty.

Despite the gnawing sense of feeling babysat, Harry was eager for a meeting with Kingsley.

"Oh, but we haven't even caught up yet!" cried Pansy, sauntering up to Ron. "How's life, then? Still living in a shoe with the rest of the Weasley brood? Well..." she smiled maliciously, "At least now you have one extra space."

Harry blinked and Ron had pinned Pansy against the wall, his wand pointed at her neck.

"_Don't_," he thundered, his face twisted. "Don't ever say that again."

She swallowed hard, her eyes on his wand. They flickered to Harry's for just a moment and then returned, as if about to ask for his help and then thinking better of it. Harry had never seen her look so small. It was just the tiniest bit satisfying.

Harry put his hand on Ron's shoulder, pulled back a bit. "Leave it. She's pathetic."

Ron remained where he was, his wand arm flexed so tightly it shook. His fingers dug into Pansy's shoulder for another moment, and then he finally stepped away from her with a grunt of disgust. Pansy trembled and then coughed out a laugh, her eyes shining.

"Dramatic much? Learn to take a joke."

"Apologize to him," ordered Harry, letting a hint of a threat play at his tone even though he knew he'd feel guilty about it later. But, whatever. She deserved it. "Now."

A vein in her neck twitched as she fought down her natural instinct to say something nasty.

She turned to Ron, spoke to him through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry, Weasley. I shouldn't have been so _insensitive_."

She glared at Harry. "Now if my jailor sees fit, I would like to return to my quarters."

Harry rolled his eyes. He worried that she would soon cause him some kind of cornea damage if he kept up this amount of eye rolling. "Go on, then."

She threw him another vicious look and then turned on her heel to leave the room.

Harry faced Ron, his hand still on his shoulder, worried that he'd be having a fit of some kind. His face was indeed still cherry red, the blood vessels popping in distress, but mostly, he looked puzzled.

"She apologized to me," he stated, monotone.

"Uh, yeah, only 'cause I told her to."

That seemed to confuse him more. "Parkinson's never apologized to anyone. Why would she do what you told her to?"

Harry shrugged, his mind already elsewhere, itching to go see Kingsley. "I told her if she didn't, you know, fall in line or whatever, I'd kick her out and take back my donation. So are you ready to go, or?"

Harry started turning but Ron stopped him, looking conflicted and, if Harry didn't know better, disappointed. "You said that to her?"

"Yeah...?"

Ron shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Don't you think that's a bit dark, mate?"

Harry had never seen Ron look at him this way before. It was unsettling. "I didn't mean it. Obviously I wouldn't do that. And, what, _I'm _dark? You literally just drew your wand at her!"

Ron looked down, but Harry still caught that flicker of shame meant to be directed at him. "Well, I couldn't let her talk about Fred like that, could I? Look, I can't stand her either but, I'd never threaten to let her be...I mean, _Merlin_, Harry."

Unable to bear the look in his friend's eyes, Harry turned and Disapparated, feeling sick. If even Ron felt like Harry was being indecent, what did that say about the state of his moral compass?

He wondered if it had gone wonky after the first time he touched Hermione.

* * *

><p>Harry stalked to Kingsley's office with purpose; that awful, familiar sensation in his gut persisting that something was being hidden from him.<p>

That's what his life has taught him, hasn't it? No matter how bad things may seem, they can always get worse. And he could never leave it alone. He would always pick at that festering scab until his own blood spilt, both literally and metaphorically.

The door swung open easily, and a frazzled Kingsley looked up from his paperwork, appearing not even slightly surprised to see Harry's troubled face.

"Harry, good, you're here. I apologize if you felt as if I were 'fetching' you by sending Ron to accompany you, I merely did not wish to take any chances that you would not come immediately."

Harry's eyebrows pulled together, taking in the state of the Minister and his office. At first glance, everything seemed fine; there were no alarms blaring, no red-taped documents littering the floor, Kingsley was not beating his fists to his desk in a rage. But Harry knew Kingsley, knew that something was wrong by the way just a couple of half-eaten foodstuffs hadn't been vanished away, by the way his mouth turned down lazily at the corners as if he had not slept in a while, by the way his hands were restless and finicky.

"Why wouldn't I come?" Harry asked, challenging, slow.

Kingsley's dark eyes flashed to his for a moment and then went back to surveying the floating quill beside him that was scrawling frantically on parchment.

"Who knows? If you were feeling ill, overslept, perhaps found yourself drawn away by something else...there are endless possibilities on the subject."

With a wave of his hand he stopped the quill. It screeched to a halt and fell limply to his desk, allowing Kingsley to give his full attention to Harry.

"But since you are here, we do have some things to discuss."

Harry felt his pulse quicken at the prospect of new knowledge, a whisper of adrenaline.

"Like Voldemort's supporters regrouping?" he said hotly.

Kingsley became infuriatingly calm, apparently glad that Harry was following some script that Harry did not know he was following. "Yes, I was rather hoping Ron would fill you in on that. There have been such organizations discovered in Russia, China, France...enough places to have us feeling uncomfortable. There are rumors of them here, as well. We have Aurors looking into it, but the English groups have proved very discrete."

"And why didn't you just tell me about them yourself?"

Kingsley leaned back and chuckled once, a low sound that was self-awarely disingenuine. "You have someone in your home who's aligned with Death Eaters! I can't risk sharing such delicate information with Parkinson so near. One day of you not knowing all isn't much to ask for. As much as I respect and admire you, Harry, I cannot accord you with special treatment at the expense of public safety."

Harry tried to meet his eye, but failed. Kingsley seemed to know one of Harry's largest insecurities: Special treatment. That he was in his position because of what he did, and not who he was.

"I don't...I don't want special treatment, I just - "

"And it's actually Parkinson that I wish to discuss with you, Harry - "

"Why haven't they been arrested?" Harry interjected, not to be distracted. "Voldemort's supporters. I haven't read or seen anything about the rest of the world's incarcerated Death Eaters. Nothing. You said they were discovered, so if we know who they are, where they are - "

Kingsley cut him off, frowning that he was breaking his script. "I wish we could. But they actually haven't done anything _illegal_, strictly speaking. Right now, they're operating under the guise of 'traditionalist groups.' As you and I both know, 'traditional' translates directly to rather twisted views of blood supremacy, but…" Kingsley sighed wearily. "For now, they have propositioned no dangerous acts. For now, being the operative words."

Harry was getting tired of not getting straight answers. "Okay, so, what? You think they will sometime soon?"

"It is what I'm afraid of. You see, what worries me are these extremist groups of Muggle-born radicals. Perhaps you've heard of them? The most well-known call themselves the Mud Insurgents."

Harry's mind flashed to Pansy, to the fear clogging her throat at the thought of being expelled from the safety of his home. "Are they the ones who've been doing the...the 'avengement assaults'? You know..." Harry's mouth filled with spit, "...on pureblood women."

Kingsley's face hardened. "There has not been a single confirmed case of such a thing. A nasty scare tactic. I take it you heard this from Parkinson?"

Harry said nothing.

Kingsley went on. "I believe that such rumors are being spread by purebloods wishing to cause unrest, perhaps even another war. If word spread that the Insurgents were doing things severe enough to anger Voldemort's supporters...it would be catalyst enough for widespread devastation."

Harry sneered. "So we're just going to wait until they kill innocent people and _then _arrest them? How does that make sense? How is that justice?"

"Justice is an idealistic notion, Harry." Kingsley suddenly declared. "This is law."

"It's rubbish."

Kingsley sighed and then continued as if Harry had never interrupted. "But then, it goes both ways. It's a very tense balance. If the Mud Insurgents formulate an attack, Voldemort's supporters will crack down. Or if _they _do first, the Insurgents will do the same, I've no doubt. Some of their philosophy is...troubling, to say the least. So this time, as you can see, is a minefield. Any little thing could set off a trigger."

Harry wanted to move, leave, _lead_; do something already. He did not want to wait-and-see, wait and see for more, more posturing, more bloodshed, more murder.

"So what do we do?" he asked urgently.

"All I need from you, Harry, is to interrogate Parkinson." Kingsley leaned forward suddenly, his eyes boring into Harry's. Harry had never seen him look so intently at anyone. "It is imperative that we get all the information she has, and quickly. If we can take down enough actual Death Eaters from inside the 'traditionalist' groups, they will soon be dissolved."

Harry cringed.

"I mean, yeah, of course I'll get information off her. But, you have other people you can ask, right?" he said. "Other testimonies, other Death Eaters in Azkaban…Even Parkinson's parents would be better choices."

With a flick of his wand, Kingsley brought his quill back to life, and it continued its scribbling as he looked on, his mouth twitching slightly. "Her parents seem to be quite skilled in the art of Occlumency, and are not talking. As for the rest, we've done what we can through Legilimency against Death Eaters as well as cross-examining their allies. But it's not everyone. Voldemort made sure that his lower followers be kept as separate and secret as they could, not knowing each other unless they had to. So, please, Harry, do what I ask of you. And soon."

As if waving him goodbye, Kingsley sent a stack of documents towards Harry's direction and then turned his attention to whatever it was he was previously working on. It was clear Harry was being dismissed. He turned stiffly, feeling unsatisfied and restless.

Queerly, the feeling reminded him that he still needed to write to Ginny.

* * *

><p>Harry returned home from training in a foul mood.<p>

It had been an off day by all means. He was so distracted by his meeting with Kingsley that during the Stealth and Tracking practice, he had knocked over a prop pillar, which knocked into another, creating a bit of a domino effect with him at the center.

He was embarrassed, pissed. He had gotten it into his head that the other Aurors loved to see him fail, despite having no evidence to support his theory. He didn't need any.

So feeling very anti-Kingsley, anti-Ministry, anti-everything, Harry flung open Pansy's door without a single premeditated thought of his method of interrogation. She was sitting on top of her bed, reading one of Malfoy's letters, which she promptly thrust behind her back and out of Harry's sight. Harry wondered if that was all she ever did when she was up here; read and re-read his old letters, cling to dead words that were long devoid of any meaning. It was kind of sad. If she were anyone else, he would have felt sorry for her.

"What?" she hissed at him when he just stood there, staring. "_What?_" she asked again, sharper.

"Do you know Occlumency?" he said to her at last. She looked at him like he was mad.

"No…? Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wondering, I guess."

She crossed her arms. "You pop in and ask if I can perform _Occlumency_ and expect me to believe it's just common curiosity? Please." A sudden thought struck her and she glowered. "If you try to get inside my mind, I'll gut you in your sleep."

"I _was_ just curious," Harry countered. "It's kind of rare. And since both your parents can, I just wondered - "

"What are you talking about? My mum can't do Occlumency," said Pansy, and then snapped her mouth shut as if she couldn't believe it had actually offered information about her family.

"Huh," said Harry.

"'_Huh,'_" Pansy mocked. "Do you always sound like an inbred buffoon, or is it just around me?"

He frowned at her, knowing he should get down to it already. The questions bubbled forth in his head, professional, rehearsed: Have you, or any member of your family, participated in the Dark Arts? Did you, or any member of your family, support Voldemort during his rise to power? Are you aware of any current Death Eaters at large? Refusal to answer any and all questions will render you subject to…

He thought of Kingsley's drooping mouth, and the orders he had issued from it. Harry added the subtext: Do what I ask of you, Harry, don't ask questions, Harry, just _trust me,_ Harry.

The voice that came out of Kingsley's mouth sounded disturbingly like Dumbledore's.

Good old Harry Potter. Follows orders without question. Always.

"I guess you just bring out the worst in me." He shut her door and went to his room, his unasked inquiries burning a hole in his chest.

* * *

><p>The next night, Harry was still poring over the papers that Kingsley had given him when he heard a knock on his door. He was a bit glad for the diversion; the documents weren't making much sense to him. They were filled with names and faces of people he'd never even heard of and he failed to see the point of scouring through them, how it could help them catch Death Eaters.<p>

He opened the door to Hermione, her face morose. It looked like she had just been crying.

She made a valiant effort at smiling. "Hello there. How are you, Harry?"

Harry made a noise that sounded like a laugh but wasn't. He reached for her and felt something tight and uncomfortable in his chest leave him the moment she embraced him. He hadn't even realized it was there until it was gone.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she answered.

Hermione stepped inside and he took her coat, pinning it to the rack beside the door.

"Why didn't you just Apparate straight inside?" he asked her as he did.

"Oh, I - I didn't want to be presumptuous. You know, after last time," she said softly.

"God, sorry, I didn't realize you'd feel…" Harry wanted to kick himself. Of _course _Hermione felt rejected. He had rejected her. Looking at her stricken expression, he didn't think he had the strength to do it again.

Her eyes trailed over the papers on his table. "What are these? Have you found another Death Eater?"

"Uh, yeah, maybe." Harry drew his wand and sent the papers away, partly because he didn't want Hermione to have to worry about it, and partly because he selfishly wanted all of her attention on him.

He wasn't quick enough. "The Mud Insurgents! Why, I've read about them!" She turned to him, that hungry look in her eye that she got whenever she was unraveling a mystery, a look that often mirrored Harry's.

"You have? When? What did you find out?"

"Recently," she said, sitting down and motioning for him to bring back the papers. He did, only a little bit reluctantly. "Very recently. After everything that Pansy said...I couldn't help myself. I started searching through pureblood assault records, then with Muggle-born theory and extremist theory, and finally touched upon the Insurgents. They're impossible to research through ordinary means. Seemingly en masse, the mainstream public just isn't reporting them. I had to…" she shifted a bit in her seat. "I had to go to Knockturn Alley to find something even remotely substantial."

Harry sat, visibly upset. "Hermione, you can't go there. You're the most famous Muggle-born witch in the world! It's dangerous."

Hermione's eyes shot to the ceiling but she blushed. "Hardly. Besides, I altered my appearance, no one even suspected it was me. So anyway, what I found was - "

"Just - " Harry took hold of Hermione's hand, threaded his fingers through hers. Her gaze fell down to them, looking surprised. He hated that she was still surprised when he touched her in places that didn't lead to fucking. "Just be careful, alright? If anything happened to you, I…"

He frowned deeply, unable to figure out how to finish his sentence. Why were words so elusive? Whenever he needed them most, they'd always been so terribly _not there_.

"I'm fine," she murmured, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles. "Perfectly fine. Anyway," she cleared her throat, "The Insurgents are supposed to be a leaderless organization, but I believe that two wizards seem to be leading the ranks."

She flickered through his documents, finally found a decent photo and thrust it towards Harry triumphantly.

"Look, see? These two keep popping up. And it's just the way they stand, the way they move. Like they're running things."

The photo was a group of wizards and witches huddled in a dingy looking room, some sitting and some standing, looking almost normal if not for the fact that they were all donning brown robes of the same shade. Hermione pointed to one wizard, short, tan skin, dark features - and another, the exact opposite: Tall, pale, haunted eyes.

"Do you know who they are?" Harry asked as he observed them.

"As for the short one, no idea. No information on him. But the other, his name's Yegor Krupin, and - doesn't he look familiar?"

Harry squinted hard at the man, his piercing eyes seemed to be squinting back.

"Uh...maybe?"

Hermione huffed, seemingly at a loss as to how Harry could have missed it. "I saw it straight away, so I looked into his birth records, just to be sure. Krupin isn't his paternal last name. It's Dolohov!"

"What?" Harry was shocked, squinted harder. There, in his nose, his jaw, he saw it, the likeness - the relation to Antonin Dolohov, Death Eater extraordinaire. "So, what, is he his brother?"

"Half brother," Hermione corrected. "All I know is, his mother was a Muggle, and he's taken her last name instead of his father's. So you can probably guess how it went."

Harry nodded. It wasn't uncommon; pureblood wizards out for an easy lay during a time when attending Muggle brothels and the like was socially acceptable, depending on your social circle. Sometimes it was innocent; a brief and consensual fling, but it usually wasn't. And sticking around for an unwanted pregnancy with a Muggle girl? Out of the question.

"What else did you find out about them?"

Hermione chewed her lip. "Well, it was from a rather biased source, so we really can't take it all at face value. Most, if not all, are probably lies, just things to make purebloods feel indignant or self-righteous. Assault, muggings, theft, things like that…"

She looked troubled, and Harry could imagine why.

"It's just...they're _Muggle-borns_, you know? They can't be...can't be…" Hermione stared at the papers dolefully.

"Okay," Harry began, wanting to spare her from her brain, "So all we know so far is one of the leaders is half-arsed Dolohov's half-blood, half brother" - Hermione smiled, and Harry liked that he could make her smile - "The Mud Insurgents have a bad reputation in pureblood communities, and Kingsley thinks they're _potentially _dangerous, but presently harmless. And there's also something he's keeping from me, I think." He frowned, the cogs in his head screeching to a halt.

He and Hermione talked well into the night, tossing out hypotheses, each one wilder than the next but it felt _good_. Like they had a purpose again. Hermione was getting that almost manic gleam in her eye and she was leaning forwards more as their discussion deepened, her cheeks glowing and her demeanor unpretentious, totally focused.

It was hot, to be honest.

"Are you staying over tonight?" Harry finally blurted.

She blinked, her speech stuttering.

"Oh, ah, yes, well."

Hermione fiddled with her hair like she sometimes did when she was self conscious. "I would very much appreciate if you'd let me spend the night here. Ron and I had a fight and I don't really feel like sleeping at Hogwarts."

Harry felt something leap in his chest at her words, but it was quelled with the guilt that he had just felt satisfaction over his friend's unhappiness.

"Hermione, I told you. Always. You can always come here." he said, the guilt not making him any more of a better person or her any less lovely.

She opened and closed her mouth, searching for words. "Thank you. I can sleep on the couch, if you'd like."

Harry couldn't think of anything that he'd like less.

"I mean...if you wanted to…"

_God, why am I being such a wimp?_ Harry thought. _It's _Hermione. _I've been with her a million times. I should just kiss her, touch her, throw her on the table already! _

Hermione twisted the engagement ring on her finger.

"Do you want some sherbet?" he asked stupidly. Her eyebrows furrowed and she probably thought he was as awkward as he felt.

"Sherbet?"

"Yeah, I just bought some. Pumpkin flavored. It's good." What the _hell_ was he doing? Trying to be Hermione's gal pal and eat ice cream while discussing menstrual cramps?

Hermione smiled a bit, her eyes still touched with bemusement. "Um, sure. I'll have some."

"Okay, cool. You can go head up to my room, and...I'll bring up a couple bowls." _Thattaboy, Harry. Ease into it casually. _

_Ugh. Creepy. Reminder to never say 'thattaboy' out loud._

Hermione smiled and went upstairs and Harry conjured his bowls, lifted perfect spheres of pleasantly orange dessert into them with his wand. He was battling internally with himself, although "battling" was too forgiving a word. It was more like rationalizing.

_I shouldn't sleep with her. _

_But I want to. Badly._

_It isn't like _not _shagging her would suddenly make me more noble. It's happened too many times for that._

_Ginny and I are on a break, right? Right?_

_And her and Ron…_

_Ron…_

_Fuck it. _

What happened next was a bit like stepping out of his own life and into someone else's; a pleasanter one, a less complex one. Hermione was playing a Weird Sisters album -

"I didn't know you liked the Weird Sisters."

"I don't. But it's all you have. You should really expand your tastes, Harry."

"You can't expand on perfection."

- and the two sat on his bed and ate, laughing about nothing and everything. Even his room seemed brighter, more cheerful; it was just that kind of night. Hermione somehow got sherbet on her cheek and Harry pretended to move to smudge it off, but instead sprayed whipped cream at her from the tip of his wand. She squealed, wrestling with him.

"Oh, hang on Hermione, you've got something on your face. Let me just get that for you -"

"That's not fair, I don't know this spell! Why do you know a whipped cream spell, you degenerate!"

She blasted him with water and it smeared the whipped cream on her face and it was so _easy_, leaning in and kissing her mouth that tasted like sticky sugar, _easy _to trip off to his shower together, groping and snogging. So easy to make this feel warm and justified instead of dark or shameful, falling into his bed.

Harry watched as Hermione's head traveled further down his body, her tongue darting out to set bits of him on fire. His nipple. The skin between his ribcage. The inside of his thigh. The side of his cock.

"You are cruel, Granger," Harry groaned, his prick actually twitching for her to touch it more thoroughly. She smirked up at him.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently, dragging one finger up and down his shaft. She took one of his balls in her mouth and suckled on it while that maddening finger kept up its path. Torture. Unbelievably good torture.

Harry reached down to grab some of her hair, tugged on it until she gave him a wincing smile because it always made her wetter when he pulled her hair. He didn't know why, and he didn't ask. He wasn't sure if he'd like the answer.

"Have I ever told you how good you look with my cock in your mouth?" he said, his lips curving into a grin. She laughed, her breath tickling his sensitive flesh.

"Really, Harry, is that the best you've got?" she said before pressing a kiss to the side of his length again. His hips jerked at her touch, and Harry shuddered.

"No, it's not," he said suggestively. "If you want to see the _best_ I've got, well…" He nodded to his painful erection and made a clicking noise out of the side of his mouth.

Her mouth dropped, scandalized, but she was still suppressing a grin. "Did you just click your cheek at me?"

Harry cast his gaze upward as if contemplating her question very deeply. "Yeah, I believe I did. And yet, unacceptably, my dick is still dry. Better hop to."

Hermione's eyebrow arched, a wicked smile at her lips. "I suppose I should. Hop to."

Locking eyes with Harry, her long fingers took hold of the base of his shaft and he could've sworn his heart stopped as her lips parted to swallow him. It may have been a joke just to egg her on, but Hermione really did look fantastic with his dick stuffed in her mouth. Cheeks full, face flushed, mouth erotically wide, soft lips pink and glistening with saliva and pre-cum; she was mesmerizing. Her clever tongue could swirl him into a frenzy. Harry groaned and struggled not to thrust upwards as she bobbed up and down on his cock.

She took him fully, to the hilt, and his hands twisted in the sheets when he hit the back of her throat. She hollowed her cheeks. Sucked hard. Made him moan. Hermione had only just begun and Harry was already muttering a stream of curses, the muscles in his stomach tensing. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, Hermione's lips journeyed up to his head, tonguing his slit. She lathed her tongue across it and Harry gasped, pleasured.

Then, as quickly as it had taken him, her mouth made its departure. He watched her, confused, as her mouth widened a bit more, and then -

He jerked out of the way as her teeth clamped down in the space his cock had occupied just a moment before.

Hermione threw her head back, laughing, and after a moment of shock Harry joined her, his own laughter disbelieving and slightly frightened.

"_Wo-oah! _You're scary," he said, his eyes wide. Hermione hunched up her shoulders as she giggled, her eyes scrunching up with the force of her laughter.

"Oh, relax, I wasn't actually going to do anything," she assured him, her eyes glinting mischievously. "But perhaps next time you'll be more polite whilst instructing someone to suck you off."

Maybe Harry should've been put out, should've launched into a rant about not belittling men's castration fears, but he didn't. He was too happy to see her so happy in his presence. It had been a long time since he'd last seen Hermione so carefree.

"You're lucky you didn't," he said, taking her bodily in his arms and throwing her down onto the bed. "Otherwise, you'd be outta luck. No more of all this - " Harry gestured down himself, "Nope. You'd be cut off. Nothing for it."

She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Oh no, please, Harry, what cruel punishment!" Harry brought his fingers to her ribs, tickling her, and she gasped for breath as she giggled while trying to fight off his hands. "I couldn't possibly live without your - _stop it, I'm ticklish!_ - without your unharmed phallus."

Harry kissed her, then, because the joke was inadvertently touching on something real. Which of them really had the strength to cut off the other? Who would it be easier for?

Her hips wiggled a bit, and the teasing presence at his dick turned his breathing ragged.

"Is this the _best_ you were speaking of?" she challenged. Harry smiled.

"It's coming."

He kissed her lips for a moment, felt her hum around the wetness of his tongue, and then went downwards.

Harry loved Hermione's body. The curves of it, the softness, the pinks and whites and scars still fading. Loved how hard her nipples got when he licked them and then blew. Loved how it squirmed when he touched certain spots. Loved how it touched him back, folded and squeezed around him.

She stopped breathing when his tongue swiped up her slit. She tasted salty and vaguely tangy, her arousal seeping through her folds. Harry sank his face in deeper, taking her completely with his mouth, savoring her. Hermione arched against him, losing herself.

"Yes, oh…"

He ate her like he was bloody starving for it. Lapping and sucking and teeth grazing almost enough to hurt; curling, ten of her fingers curling and her toes curling and his tongue curling inside her.

He shifted her hips up a bit more so he could explore her further. Sucked fully on her clit. He spread her arse apart, gave her pussy another wet kiss and then left it to swirl his tongue around her hole.

"Cheeky," she breathed, and then moaned when his tongue pressed against her more urgently, poking inside of her. He brought one of his hands to slip between her folds and rubbed, hard, not really caring where he was touching her because she cried out regardless and he was getting lost in the delirium himself.

He owned her, really, in this way. He wasn't sure what it meant that he enjoyed that feeling.

Maybe he just liked possession, liked to have things and people as _mine, all mine!_, like the spoiled little boy that he never got to be.

When she gave herself to him like this nothing could take her away; not nightmares, not bad men in dark cloaks, not even wedding rings. Those broken sounds were for him, the wetness on her thighs for him. The fact that he could make her sob with his fingers, his mouth, his cock, meant more to him than he cared to admit. She was _his _friend, _his_ advisor and his lover and his...everything, really, if he took the time to think about it. She touched every single damn part of his life. And when _he_ touched her _there _("Ah! Harry! Oh my God, don't stop, don't stop!") he was her life. If just for a night. Just for a moment.

"Oh, it's too much, it's too much, I can't, I'm going to, _oh..._"

Hermione's body seized up and then unraveled, arching and bucking, and she was already coming so hard she could scarcely breathe but she was still begging him for more.

When the tension left her body, Harry extricated himself from between her thighs, which she had clamped around his head, and watched as she trembled and collected her breath. Still panting, she raised herself up to circle her arms around his neck and straddle his lap.

"Not horrible, then?" he teased, sucking on her neck.

"Y-yeah, it was satisfactory. I suppose," Hermione said breathlessly.

Harry laughed. "Oh, professor, is there anything I can do to bring that Satisfactory up to an Excellent?"

He groaned as she lowered herself down onto him. Her cunt was even better than her mouth.

"I think we can work something out," she gasped as she rocked against him.

They had never made love like this before. There was usually no talking, no levity; it was mostly just _get in, clothes off; yes I'm gonna come; oh god what are we doing; you feel so good make me come again; I hate myself; see you tomorrow night?; okay._

So the joking around, this feeling of buoyancy, Harry didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was the fact that Ginny and Ron felt very far away, or maybe it was because there was a plot afoot that only he and Hermione could solve, him and her against the world, and it felt like they were both sixteen again and people died and they both could die but it wasn't that bad because nothing was that bad, not yet, not back then, not now. He didn't know what to make of it, so he just enjoyed it.

"How do I feel?" he murmured, smiling, against the skin of her wrist. She bit her lip and sighed out a laugh as she sank down onto him again.

"You feel long. Perfect. You make me feel full. And warm...everywhere." Soft, wonderful noises spilled out of her mouth as Harry swiped his tongue along her earlobe and at the juncture between her collarbone and neck; hot wetness along her veins and tendons.

She squeezed him, then, inside her, making Harry gasp aloud.

"How do I feel?" she asked, her turn to smirk, her turn to watch him squirm. He laughed at her unusual boldness until she bared down on him again and he had to moan.

"You feel so good," he said, grinning, canting his hips up to hers. "So fucking good. So wet."

He sucked hard on her nipple and let it go with a pop.

"So tight."

He slipped one of his fingers into his own mouth and sucked, tasting her juices, slicking his finger with saliva.

"So hot."

Hermione stared down at him, thrilled, transfixed, as he brought his spit-spoaked index behind her and filled her opening. He stroked inside her in time with his dick, and she had to move her hands from his chest to the headboard to help her hold herself up. She closed her eyes, face lit in ecstasy and moaning, reaching for him like sunflowers reaching for their star.

Harry's entire body was reacting to her, electrified with the feeling of touching and being touched. It was so much, so much sensation and so much pleasure and so much joy in his chest because he didn't have to think when he was with her; not of war or death or the future, he just had to be and just had to feel and oh Merlin did she make feeling easy. He smoothed his hands over her body and gripped her waist as they moved together, overcome with desire.

"I love you," Harry breathed without thinking, so quiet even he could barely hear it.

Immediately, the tone changed.

Hermione's expression darkened. No more giggling, no more teasing. Her grip on the headboard turned vice-like and Harry, quite frankly, didn't know what to do. He kissed her, whispered her name sweetly on her mouth, hoped if they'd both just ignore his reckless words the stupid things would just shrivel and die; ugly, bloated corpses landing on the pavement, c'mon folks let's move it along now, nothing to see here, just keep it moving...

She broke the kiss and panted above him, fucking herself on his cock roughly, so rough he would've been concerned if not for the blistering sensation it was shooting through his body.

Harry felt Hermione's hand clutch some of the hair on his chest, then reach up to his neck and squeeze. The pressure around his throat gave Harry both a depraved thrill and the uneasy knowledge that she was purposely rendering him incapable of long speech.

He and Hermione were now nothing more than two moaning and grunting bodies, slamming against each other for warmth and orgasm. Actually, Harry didn't even do any of the work now; Hermione raised herself up by her thighs and cried out every time she crashed back down on him, hard. Way too hard. Over and over. Pound, pound, pound. Closer to violence than sex.

Harry was suddenly cold.

He didn't even want to feel anything anymore, but he still did.

Traitorous pleasure wound itself around his stomach, reached his fingers, toes, behind his eyelids as Hermione ground against him in search of her own. The lack of air getting into his lungs due to her grip on his throat was actually making him come quicker than normal; a shameful high.

He shut his eyes as he came, staring into blackness. Harry was outside of himself. He felt climax and he did not, felt whole and did not, felt loved and did not.

But when he opened his eyes the evidence of his orgasm was there, dripping between Hermione's shaking thighs. For just a moment, maybe even less than that, really - Harry hated his body, wished that it could be pure and untouched again.

He coughed a bit as Hermione removed her fingers from around his throat, the oxygen rushing in. She slid off of him, apart from him, and reached for her wand beside the bed to clean herself with a _scourgify _spell. Harry followed suit, but did not feel clean.

She got under the covers, turned so that her back was to him. Harry watched it rise and fall unevenly with her breathing. Her pale back was marked with red where he had maybe gripped her too tight, maybe that was from his nail, or this light one was from Ron's -

"I didn't mean to say it. It doesn't count, anyways, during sex. It didn't count." he hoped his tone was lighter than he felt.

Silence.

"Hermione."

A shaking of her shoulders. The quiet stuffed itself down Harry's throat, made his lungs fill up with its poison and he had to expel it or it would kill him.

"Is this all we are, then? Not even friends anymore? You can't even really talk to me?"

Hermione started to cry. Or maybe just continued. How much time has to pass between sessions of crying for it to constitute as a separate jag? And if it's always for the same reason, are you just _always _crying, with short breaks just to pee or eat or shag?

He threw his arm across his face and sighed, let himself shut his eyes for a few seconds. The strangled noises she was making tore him apart.

"Hermione. Please. _Please_, stop crying."

She fell on her back and brought her hands to cover her face. The tears did not stop.

"I d-don't know what I'm doing," Hermione choked out. Her terrible sobs were shaking the bed. "Harry, please don't think I know what I'm doing. I don't know. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt a-anyone." In an attempt to stop her own sobbing, she started hitting her face with open palms like some fire-deprived immolating monk. Harry grabbed her hands away from her, horrified.

"I know, Hermione, I know, it's fine. I'm not in love with you. Nothing's changed. We're fine," he said soothingly, wondering if this might be the first time in documented history that a man had to assure a woman that he didn't love her to get her to stop crying.

She withdrew her hands from him and curled into a ball in his sheets, her small form still wracked with sobs.

"Don't be in love with me. I'm horrible."

"I'm not, I told you, I'm not. But..."

He shrank down with her, trying to connect again. She seemed to be withdrawing further and further into herself. "Would it really be that bad? If I loved you?" he asked quietly. "You know, um...hypothetically." He didn't entirely know why he was even asking her this. Masochism, he supposed. Or possibly sadism.

Hermione turned her face into his mattress, made a wretched sound that forced him to look away out of discomfort, and then turned to him again, her face red and soggy. "Yes. Because then it would be real. And we'd have to stop everything. I don't want real. I already have too much real. So don't. Just, _don't_."

Fresh tears still leaked from her eyes but at least she was quieter now. He didn't dare touch her.

"Yeah, no, I mean...I don't want real either," Harry said, and it kind of felt like he was lying.

Hermione's face crumpled before Harry, and her voice was suddenly tinny, child-like. "I love him."

Harry turned away from her, rested his eyes on the ceiling. "I know you do. I do too."

Her eyes were boring into him; he could feel his skin burning where they did. "I'd die for him. And without him. I would," she said.

Harry turned completely on his side so she could only see his back. An intense, desperate desire to call her a liar roared in his chest.

He didn't know what else to say, or do, or think, so Harry just listened to Hermione cry herself to sleep. It was awful, lasted a long time, and made him long for numbness.

That night, Harry swore to himself that he would never tell Hermione that he loved her ever again.

God, why did that horrible word keep cropping up anyways? He wasn't in love with Hermione. Of course not. It was a slip of the tongue in the throes of passion. She was his friend, his best friend. Who he loved as a friend, and happened to like to fuck.

There's a difference.

Isn't there?

* * *

><p>Harry woke up in an empty bed.<p>

He wasn't altogether surprised, so he assumed the feeling in his chest was disappointment. The sheets still smelled like her. His skin probably did too.

Looking down at himself, he saw the unmistakable rise of his morning stiffy underneath the thin sheet of his bedspread. He stared down at his Cursed Cock with apathy, this thing between his legs that made women cry and then disappear. The nerve of it, springing to attention after all the trouble it's caused.

He showered and had a wank so brutally existential that even the greatest minds in philosophy would tell him to take it down a peg. Feeling wretched, he and his limp penis wandered back into his room to see a Hogwarts owl swoosh in through the window and flitter excitedly on his dresser, a letter resting in its talons.

Harry took hold of the letter and stroked the top of bird's head. It blinked expectantly for some food and nipped Harry's fingers when he was too busy examining its delivery to offer its rightful earnings, so Harry mumbled his thanks and fed the owl a treat, his eyes still on the brown parchment in his hands.

Nervous, he tore it open.

_Harry _

_I just wanted to say that I was sorry for what I said about Hermione. That was wrong of me. I want her to be okay just as much as you do. You know how much I care about her, and I only said what I did because I was angry at you. It still doesn't make it right, and for that I apologize. _

_You, on the other hand, can eat shit. _

_Ginny_

Harry sat back, smiling just a bit. Weird as it may seem, her suggestion for him to consume feces was actually a good sign. They could be alright, him and Ginny, if he just made a bit more effort. His smile dropped. Maybe they shouldn't be alright. He had tried to end things once, after all. Maybe he should just let this stick, let her stew in her anger and then forget about him in the arms of some other man, for good, forever.

But it was painful to think of, and Harry was so tired of pain.

Some martyr he turned out to be.

When the martyr survives, was he ever a real one? That's kind of the defining feature of martyrs; _you have to actually die, you prick. _But he didn't die, and now a martyr he could never truly be, no matter how many people wrap the word around him like a poorly fitting cloak. He was just some bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was looking as if he was just as selfish as the next schmuck. Maybe even more so.

He quickly dressed himself before sitting down with a quill and fresh parchment.

_Ginny_

_I'm so sorry, Gin. I can't sleep without you, can't eat, I miss you so much. I love you, I love you, you're everything to me, and I _

Harry crumpled up the parchment he was filling with empty words and threw it away. Tried again.

_Ginny_

_Listen. I know I'm not perfect and neither are you. I still think we have something good together, really good, but you can't fly off the handle any time you feel like _

Ripped to shreds, thrown in the bin.

_Ginny_

_I care about you so much. But I hate living with this guilt. I've been sleeping with Hermione. I know you'll hate me, and _

Crossed out, spat upon, shredded, set on fire.

Words were stupid and useless when it came to this. His words, anyway. Jumbled and conflicting and _stupid_, utterly so. Harry couldn't think of any good ones.

Radio silence it was, then. At least for now.

"Potter! _Potter!_" Pansy screeched at him from outside his door, knocking frantically. He had immediately set up a locking enchantment once he found out she'd taken to stealing his clothes. There was also a silencing charm up, but that was for a less acceptable reason.

He opened his door, irritated. "What do you want?"

"There are people here! I heard them downstairs!" Her eyes were wide, panicked. Harry sighed.

"I'm an Auror, Parkinson. I'm going to get Ministry visitors."

She seemed to be exasperated by his lack of concern. "Just check! Just check to make sure! And bring your wand!"

Harry shouldered past her and hurried downstairs, her paranoia affecting him, just a little.

Crackling in from his fireplace and smoothing their robes were Kingsley, Ron, Neville Longbottom, and two older Aurors named Deborah Congo and Hassan Asghar.

Ron nodded to Harry, and Harry nodded back. No hard feelings since their little tiff. But Harry felt his body grow heavy, as if Hermione was still clinging to it.

"Harry," said Kingsley, voice as booming as ever. "Inform Parkinson that we're here, and tell her she has fifteen minutes to prepare herself. Same for you."

"Prepare ourselves? For what?"

Neville spoke up, grinning wide, an adventurer's grin.

"We're gonna infiltrate England's pureblood orthodoxy. And she's gonna help us."

* * *

><p>AN: Damn that was long! Haha I considered breaking it into two chapters but it didn't feel right, you know? Let me know what you guys thought! Like: Do you think Pansy's totally evil still? Should Harry and Ginny even try to reconnect? Isn't it awesome Hermione likes getting her salad tossed?! So progressive of her.


End file.
